


TBI

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Bitter Bruce, Bruce Needs a Hug, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Medical Conditions, Medical Jargon, No Batman for Bruce Wayne, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Slow Burn, Slow recovery, Traumatic Brain Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce makes for a bitter, violent, patient after suffering devastating injuries in a car accident, including a traumatic brain injury. He is forced to claw his way back to his former self, despite massive obstacles. And he doesn't have to do it on his own, as much as he thinks he does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was little hesitant to share this one. I've done some research on TBIs, but I don't want to get it wrong. I have a medical background, so some of the descriptions could be jarring or raw. I'm not going to hold back on the details. The sort of injuries Bruce sustained, would be devastating and extremely difficult to recover from. Another reason I was hesitant to post this, was because I made an original character for Bruce. Though this piece is largely going to focus on Bruce getting better, it will also have a slow burn relationship between him and the OC. Ashika is a breath of fresh air. She's different and tough and yet still sweet, despite everything and think that's what this version of Bruce needed. 
> 
> Obviously, this plot is not canon. I do not own DC or the characters. I do own Ashika. This Bruce Wayne is based off my fave Ben Affleck. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Don’t.”

Ashika Khatri had been working for Mr. Wayne for a little over three weeks. She came Monday through Saturday, from seven in the morning to seven at night. As a nurse, she was tasked with not only the man’s health but his personal care. He could do very little on his own. Her job required that she bathe, clean, empty bedpans, cook, feed, and medicate the severely injured billionaire. The schedule was what most would imagine to be grueling. And it was.

It took every ounce of her patience. Every drop of her kindness and skill. Every bit of her willpower to not walk back out the way she came each morning.

"I said don’t!”

The voice was sharp with pain, barely above a whispery grovel but it had enough venom in it to stay Ashika’s hand mid-reach for the laptop propped on the mattress.

"You heard what the doctors said. What their recommendation was.”

“I don’t fucking care what they said. I pay you. You w-work for me. Leave that god-damn, god--computer alone.”

She lifted a brow at the bitter words that tried to slice and closed the lid of the laptop without speaking. He growled lowly, but there was no threat behind it, because there was nothing he could do but lay there. Nothing he could do but use his words to try and hurt her. But after three weeks, Ashika was impervious to his vicious streak. She was becoming immovable.

“Get. Out.”

“You need to eat something before I administer these medications.”

“Get,” hazel brown eyes snapped to hers, rage coloring them darker than normal, “the fuck, out. O-out.”

Ashika lifted her chin, swallowing down the urge to slap out and hurt, “No.”

He made a choked hissing noise as he rolled to his side, then he was gripping the sheets with both hands, his knuckles going white and she closed her eyes as the obscenities came hard and fast at her. He raged at her. He called her more names, insulted her abilities as a nurse, told her she was a fool. After a solid five minutes of hoarse screaming, he sagged into the mattress like a worn-out tissue and was drenched in sweat for all the effort it had taken from him.

She’d worked with patients like him before.

Ashika was used to seeing humans at their lowest. At their most vulnerable. People became angry and violent when they felt afraid. It was natural to attack when one felt cornered and without options. That didn’t make her job any easier. That didn’t make her desire to either coddle or retaliate any less.

Keeping her professionalism in the midst of chaos was why she’d been recommended for this position. It was why the old butler had hired her.

She’d been warned. She’d been briefed.

Even still, Ashika had to draw in a long careful breath through her nose before giving Wayne her full attention again. He wasn’t looking at her now. His eyes were distant and empty, body lax. There was something—demoralizing about seeing a man fall to such levels. Something that called to her innate desire to fix and to mend what was broken. But that wasn’t her job. What was going on inside that mind of his, wasn’t her purpose. She was here to minister to his physical body, not his mind.

“Alfred made you soup.”

Wayne didn’t speak, but his mouth thinned into a white line. Ashika took that as a small win and drew the tray she’d brought closer to the bed. Careful to still keep her distance in case the man decided he was going to start throwing things at her, it had happened before, she sat delicately on the edge of the bed and spooned up a serving of the potato soup. It smelled like rosemary and garlic. Fresh and warm.

Wayne didn’t even budge an inch when she drew the spoon to his lips.

“Eat Mr. Wayne. I won’t give you those pain meds without it.” Rebellious eyes darted to hers and she nodded slowly. “You know I mean that.”

He did. They’d done this before. And though it had cost her a night of sleep out of guilt over his well-being, she’d returned in the morning to find Wayne quietly accepting of her help. He’d suffered without the medications and it had showed. She’d never felt more bitter about winning an argument.

The stubborn jaw unclenched, and his mouth opened enough for the spoon. He took every bite after, much more easily and when he’d drained half the bowl of soup, she relented and let him stop. His color looked a little better and she could see he was exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open as he watched her clean up the tray and prep his new IV bag.

"Alfred says to tell you that he’ll be in to check on you at midnight before he turns in. Will you need anything else before I go?”

Wayne blinked at her, sluggish lids hardly making it up over his pupils, “No,” he swallowed, his throat working, “I’m sorry.”

Ashika nearly fumbled the needle in her hand as she brought it to the IV port. He’d never apologized before and it sounded—strained. She didn’t think the man did it often. But still, it made her immediately warm. They were making progress. Thank God.

“Forgiven. You’ve had a hard day. I can see you’re in a lot of pain.”

He grunted in response, eyes slipping closed. Ashika gave him the dose of pain meds then flicked off the bedside lamp. “I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll start with a little bath.”

Wayne frowned, but said nothing.

Ashika grabbed her notebook, water bottle, and the laptop she’d taken and left the room quietly. She suspected Wayne was already well on his way to falling asleep.

 

Bruce Wayne had been in an accident.

He had been pancaked into a semi going down the Eisenhower Parkway at seventy miles an hour. There had been no brakes, no softening the collision. His little Porsche had looked like a squashed coke can. His body, not much better.

Charges were filed against the other driver, the one who’d fallen asleep at the wheel and rear-ended him directly into the semi, but that made little difference. For a long time, the Wayne family suspected they would be seeking charges for negligent homicide because of how badly Bruce’s condition deteriorated.  

Despite everything, he lived.

Bruce had been put into a medically induced coma almost immediately because of the brain swelling. A month after being admitted into the ICU, he’d been moved to a critical care unit that specialized in traumatic brain injuries. He underwent three surgeries. The first had been to repair a collapsed lung, remove a ruptured spleen and reconstruct his bladder. The following two surgeries, in close succession to the first had been to completely rebuild his crushed pelvis and femurs. The muscles in his right shoulder had needed to be reattached and would need a great deal of therapy.

But the TBI was the worst.

Aside from the tremendous pain of his physical wounds, Bruce Wayne suddenly found himself reduced to that of a toddler upon waking. He slurred through words, struggled to understand even the basics of a conversation. Granted, it had gotten better rapidly, but there were huge gaps in his memory. His arms and legs were horrendously weak and uncoordinated. His cognitive thinking still miles away from what it had been. Worse still, Bruce had become slave to his moods. One moment he’d feel fine, then something as small as a hangnail could send him into a rage.

He despised the emotional weakness. Even more than the physical. He could handle the pain, that was nothing new. He could handle the physical inability to do what he wanted, when he wanted, because again, that was nothing new. Bruce was no stranger to long term injury recovery.

He was the Goddamn Batman after all. Or was.

But he’d never come up against the walls of this sort of damage. His brain was like a leaking sieve, barely holding any information, betraying him at every corner. It made him foul to be around. And he was well aware of it.

He’d stopped caring. And he didn’t fucking care that he had.

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.”

The curtains were pulled back, light blistering the carpeting and skating over his bed. He’d not moved since she’d left the night previous and everything in his body felt stiff as a board.

Bruce watched Ashika move around the room, opening all of his curtains, just as she did every morning and he remained silent. It would break tradition at this point for him to respond to her so early. Not before he’d had some coffee anyways. Something he was allowed in pitifully small amounts.

She was wearing purple scrubs today and looked like a little peppy flower in some goddamn garden when she approached the bed with a wide smile. He didn’t see what she was so happy about today. There was no good reason she should be smiling when she looked at him each morning. But she did. Smile that is, every morning.

“It’s bath day.”

He gave into a sigh as she reached forward and started helping him sit up. The room swam a little and he leaned heavier into her shoulder than he wanted to, but they managed to get his legs swung over the bed to where his wheelchair sat. In another month or so, he might get to use a walker. One of those aluminum ones with the tennis balls on the front.

Getting to the bathroom, was like a fucking marathon. Mostly because he insisted upon pushing himself in the chair as much as possible. He sweated, cursed, ached to the marrow of his bones in places he was so tired of hurting and was about ready to throw up by the time they managed to get him to the toilet. He’d only just graduated from his ostomy and urostomy bags, a special treat, but it was still hard to feel when he had to go. Because of the bladder reconstruction. So, he was forced to wear something like a diaper pretty much all the time in case he had any accidents.

There was no end to humiliation of having his ass wiped when he’d had an ‘accident’. He still wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be, even if given all the time in the world.

After his morning visit to the toilet, Ashika stripped him down to his skin with her usual professional briskness and helped him into the shower where his sturdy stool was waiting. The process of getting into the bathroom had been tiring enough, he said nothing when she scrubbed his scalp with her nails. He did his best not to groan at the heat of the water on his skin, or the feeling of soap scrubbing away the smell of sickness that never seemed to go away, but he did.

Ashika had heard him grunt, scream, curse, and cry. He didn’t think she’d care if he groaned a little when she rubbed his scalp.

She soaped him up from head to toe, let him clean his own ass, because he could manage that much, just barely, then sprayed him down with quick steady movements. When he watched her face as she worked, she looked soft.

Ashika’s eyes were very dark, so dark they could almost be called black. Her skin was a light brown, nearly bronze and though she always kept her hair braided and up off her neck, Bruce knew it would be long enough to touch her low back if she let it down. He probably wouldn’t have looked at her twice, two months ago, before the accident.

Now she was the one of the only people he saw on a daily basis. Aside from Alfred.

He’d been looking at her every day for the last three weeks and even Bruce could recognize she was pretty. Not traditionally no, but pretty just the same. Softly curved, petite, and strong enough to handle the shit he threw at her daily. She didn’t look like she could handle a strong wind, but she hid her strength well, beneath those usually ridiculously patterned scrubs.

Ashika turned off the water and toweled him off. She let him sit another minute to gear up for the walk back to his bed and didn’t bat an eyelash when he grunted out several more curse words on their way then gave up and let her take over. He supposed she’d gotten callouses on her ear drums where he was concerned. She’d have to, to still be here. Everyone else had quit within a couple of days. He’d run them all off.

And he’d not always been trying to.

But she remained. For whatever unknown reason.

Ashika helped him into a fresh t-shirt and sweats, offering him a pair of socks silently when he shivered on the bed from the temperature change. It was the dead of winter in Gotham and even though the mansion was well heated, it got a bit drafty still.

“Hungry?”

He shrugged his left shoulder. The right didn’t move at all. It had almost no movement. He was supposed to start physical therapy for that soon.

“Alfred said he made cream of wheat.”

“Yummy,” Bruce mumbled, settling back into the pillows. The sheets were changed. Alfred must have come in like a storm to get the bed undressed and redressed so quickly.

Ashika laughed at him and it sounded at odds with her pinched brows, “You like it.”

“I don’t like anything anymore. It all tastes like nothing.”

She sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed to offer him the bowl. “I want you to do three bites on your own.”

Bruce’s gaze fell to his lap where she’d put the bowl and he swallowed thickly. The spoon shouldn’t look so daunting when it lay harmlessly in the white mash. But it was. He carefully moved his hand to the spoon, forced his fingers to close over the handle, then shakily brought a mouthful to his lips. He only spilled a little onto his chin and Ashika wordlessly handed him a napkin to clean it. Which he also managed without help.

When he took his fourth bite on his own, the spoon was shaking so badly he got the cream of wheat all over his nose and up a nostril.

He’d done this before. He’d made messes before. He’d spilled things. He’d dropped them. He broke them.

But he still felt the scalding pink of shame color the tops of his ears when Ashika murmured encouragement then wiped his nose clean. He wanted to upend the bowl and scream at her to get out again. He didn’t.

But God, he wanted to. He just—he wanted to do this alone. Without an audience. He wanted to eat without having to think so fucking hard about how to do it. It was better than the feeding tube. And sure, he could do a few bites on his own, rather than just one. But he still felt like a fool.

“Good,” Ashika mused, dark eyes smiling even though her mouth didn’t, “One more?”

He swallowed, dug back into the cereal then forced it up to his mouth. His fingers spasmed on the handle and a big plop of hot wet food hit his t-shirt at the collar.

“Fuck.”

“It’s alright,” she soothed, wiped at his collar with the napkin, “I’ll finish. You need to eat.”

Bruce growled, jerking away when she tried to offer him another bite, “No.”

“You need to eat Mr. Wayne. You know how much weight you’ve lost these last months of bed-rest. The only way to get stronger, is to keep trying. You did well. Don’t spit on the little victories just because it isn’t going as quickly as you want it to.”

Grinding his teeth, Bruce choked down a choice insult then nodded sharply. They finished breakfast in silence, but he still felt the anger red hot and very much present at the back of his mind.

After breakfast she brushed and flossed his teeth, then returned with his pain meds. He might have sagged into the bed with a small curl of joy at the sight of the needle going into the IV bag, just maybe. They may not offer total relief, but they helped. They helped a lot.

He couldn’t imagine a day when he didn’t need to take them. Just the idea of stopping his pain medications made him sweat like an addict being denied his fix. He didn’t like to think about it.

“We have your physical therapist coming today for the legs at noon. Then you have the speech therapist coming in at three.”

“Sounds exciting,” Bruce grumbled, eyes suddenly heavy as he watched Ashika gathering some pillows for him. She stuffed two behind his back, then used two more to prop up his legs. They liked to swell and fill with fluid if he didn’t elevate them. The doctors said it would take a long time for the bones to fully knit into place, despite the screws and rods they’d used to fix them. They ached constantly.

He hated his physical therapist. But he probably hated the speech one more.

That guy was a piece of work.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred breezily strode into the bedroom blessedly carrying Bruce’s computer bag and a stack of books with him, “I see you’ve eaten breakfast. You look well, sir.”

Bruce lifted a brow, but said nothing when Alfred and Ashika shared a smile. They’d easily made a connection from the moment the woman had been hired on. Alfred couldn’t handle the extent of his care, or the muscle needed anymore in his age, and none of his boys could stop their lives for months on end to step in either. It was the reason they’d gone with a private nurse in the first place.

And on Bruce’s good days, he was glad that he had. On the bad, he raged against and cursed them all. Every one of them. 

“Coffee?”

Ashika nodded, moving to the door, “I’ll be just down the hall. Buzz me if you need me sooner.”

She’d be back in an hour to do a bathroom visit. They were scheduled to try and prevent accidents.

“I’ll bring your cup up just as soon as I have a moment sir.”

Bruce wanted to say there was no hurry. But he looked forward to that cup of coffee every day. It was something that made him feel like his old self. Like at some point in time, he’d get that cup of coffee on his own again and everything would fall back into place. Everything would feel normal again.


	2. Chapter 2

            Wayne had a quiet morning. He worked silently on his laptop, thumbing through the books Alfred had brought him, sipping painstakingly slow on that coffee he’d been given. She’d never seen a man more determined to drink a cup of coffee on his own. He used a straw and kept it on the end table, so he could lean over and drink without his hands.

            It was admirable.

            Physical therapy put him in a mood, as it always did and even though he appeared to be making great strides, he was never happy about it. It was never enough. He plugged through the hand exercises with the therapy balls. He did the stretches for his shoulder with the help of the therapist and griped and cursed when the therapist gave him new exercises to work on in his free time.

            By the time the speech therapist came at three, Ashika could tell that Wayne was gearing up for a full-blown meltdown. And he didn’t disappoint.

            “Repeat after me, Shelly sells seashells down by the seashore.”

            “What am I, fucking five?”

            “Mr. Wayne, tongue twisters are a great way to work on—”

            “No.”

            “Mr. Wayne, this is part of the therapy, if you don’t do this, you won’t get any better.”

            “I can talk. Just. Fine.”

            “Yes and no. Your articulation under pressure falls away and you stutter when you become upset. Working on memory recall and repetition will help—”

            Ashika could hear the crash from across the hall and was up and moving before the stream of curses began. The moment she got in the room, she could see what the crash had been and she had to stifle the urge to cast a scathing look in his direction. Wayne had shoved everything off his nightstand nearest where he was propped up, sending a glass and books flying. Shards of glass were spread everywhere.

            The speech therapist, a short woman with a kind smile who was pushing sixty, looked white as a ghost and absolutely stunned. Apparently, she’d not seen Wayne resort to getting physical yet.  

            “Mrs. Cottrell, perhaps you could wait outside a moment?” Ashika was forced to raise her voice to be heard over the harsh yelling that hadn’t stopped yet.

            Despite the stutter, Wayne was working himself through some fairly graphic obscenities. Some of which were comedic, they were so harsh.  

            Mrs. Cottrell bolted for the door without further prompting and Ashika abruptly turned to Mr. Wayne to offer him a bland stare. His hands were fisted in the comforter beneath him, and his face was a deep red like he was about to burst the throbbing veins in his temples. But it wasn’t something Ashika hadn’t already seen. Wayne lost his temper often. Or broke down into fitful crying that would embarrass him to the point he’d stop speaking for days. His emotions were as out of control as his limbs.

            It was a side effect of the TBI. It was expected and typical. It was likely the hardest aspect for both of them to handle. There was no predicting what would set it off and occasionally, there was nothing to be done except let it run its course.

            “Mr. Wayne, take a deep breath.”

            “F-f-f” Wayne stammered, face purpling, “f-fuck you!”

            Ashika took a soft, bolstering breath to temper her voice, “Regulating your breathing will calm your mind.”

            Wayne made a sound that resembled a snarl and tried to throw a pillow at her. It fell pitifully short and didn’t make it more than a foot. His energy level was dipping already. A plus side considering when incensed enough, Wayne could put on a show for quite some time.

            She might have to send Mrs. Cottrell home after all.

            “Mr. Wayne. If you don’t calm down, I will leave and not come back for half an hour. I won’t stay here when you don’t even try.”

            “T-t-try?” he hissed, panting in ragged sobbing breaths that sounded like just as much work as the words, “What d-d-o y-you think I’m fucking d-d-d” he ground to a stop, slammed his eyes closed and then started breathing like he was suffocating.

            “Mr. Wayne,” Ashika said quietly, feeling unease creep up her spine as she watched him flail for breath on the mattress, “Breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate.”

            “I-I know,” he whispered, face abruptly losing color till he looked sickly.

            She’d seen rage. She’d seen sorrow. She’d not seen him panic. It was a first for them both.

            Ashika rushed forward and grabbed both sides of his face, breaking her own rules with unneeded physical contact, “Bruce? Mr. Wayne?”

            “F-f-fine. I’m f-fine.”

            “OK. Alright,” Ashika couldn’t help the feeling that she said those words more for herself than for him. “Breathe with me. Deep breaths. Slow it down. You can do it Bruce.”

            Gray eyes flickered open and held tightly onto her own and Ashika stared back, allowing the strangely personal moment to linger as he drew in a breath through pursed lips and struggled to slow it down. They breathed together, him holding the comforter for dear life and Ashika still holding his face in her hands, a scant handful of inches away. They remained frozen in that position for long stilted minutes. When he finally seemed calm again, Ashika drew away slowly, letting her hands fall limply to her sides.

            Her palms tingled.

            “You called me Bruce,” his voice sounded wrecked from screaming. Raw.

            Ashika lifted her chin and refused to cower, “Yes. It got your attention. I can go back to calling you Mr. Wayne if you like.”

            “No,” Wayne rasped, “Please don’t.”

            The emotion in his tone hadn’t left. It had only moved to something like gratitude mixed with relief.

            _Oh_.

            It felt odd, knowing that something as simple as calling him his first name mattered so much. But how could it not? She understood. He was battling so much, trapped inside his mind and body. He felt like a prisoner already and calling him Mr. Wayne, likely made him feel even more separate and distant from everyone and everything.

            Bruce was a name that meant something more. It meant—human. It meant soft.

            Ashika forced her eyes off his and nodded carefully. “Alright. I’ll call you Bruce.”

            It sounded strange coming out of her mouth now that they weren’t in the thick of the moment. It sounded too personal. But she couldn’t regret bringing that softness to his eyes. She couldn’t regret seeing that he liked her saying it.

            It was better than the constant shade of ire and rage and desolation that usually colored his gaze.

            “You need to finish.”

            The warmth vanished. “I hate her.”

            “She’s trying to help you.”

            “She treats me like a ch-child.”

            Ashika shook her head, “Mrs. Cottrell is offering the traditional method of speech therapy offered to someone in your position. You lose speech when upset or emotionally stimulated. Your articulation needs work.”

            Bruce’s glare turned vengeful when it skidded past her and found the doors. It appeared that Mrs. Cottrell had been brave enough to return and though she looked pale, she also looked determined. Ashika was glad she’d misjudged the woman’s staying power.

            “I believe we have ten minutes left of our time together, Mr. Wayne.”

            Bruce’s mouth thinned, but after a moment, he nodded.

            “Bruce?” Ashika caught his attention as Mrs. Cottrell stepped over the mess from the nightstand, “Clark said he would be coming by this evening. It might be nice to share a good report with him when he gets here.”

            Bruce snorted, but looked mildly chagrined. Ashika didn’t feel guilty about using his friend. She didn’t feel guilty in the least.

            It was her job. Bruce Wayne was her job. And just that.

 

            Mrs. Cottrell left after the promised ten minutes.

            He did the goddamn exercises. And he did them painfully slow on purpose. She smiled, he scowled. And then she left.

            He hated that woman.

            Then Ashika swept back into the room and Bruce silently watched as she stooped to clean up the mess he made. The mess he hardly remembered causing at all.

            But he remembered Ashika grabbing his face in the thick of his panic. He remembered her staring down into his eyes like she was staring into _him_ and plucking his soul out for inspection. The fight had gone right out of him. He hadn’t felt so oddly undone in months. He hadn’t felt so—seen—in too long to remember. Like stumbling into a desert and finding an oasis of water.

            It changed something between them. There was something different now. Tenuous and thin, but different. There.

            “What time is it?”

            She checked her wrist, “A quarter to five.”

            “He’ll be here in five minutes then. He’s always early.”

            Ashika smiled at that. Already knowing who he was talking about. “Yes, Clark will be here early. Do you want me to have Alfred bring supper up here?”

            “Yes.”

            “I’ll grab the TV trays.”

            “And—” Bruce paused, suddenly embarrassed about asking, “And the meds?”

            “Of course. I almost forgot.”

            Bruce wished he could. He wished he didn’t count down every fucking second till he got his next dose of pain meds each day. He wished he wasn’t keenly aware of how much they made his life bearable and how much he’d want to kill himself if he didn’t have them.

            Ashika’s watch timer went off and Bruce sighed into the pillows at his back.

            “But first, it’s time for a little bathroom break.”

            He rolled his eyes and did his best not to think at all, just as he did every time she got him wheeled to the bathroom and then situated on the toilet. She left the room while he took care of business and when she returned to help him get his pants back up, Bruce refused to feel like he always did. Dreadfully ashamed. A little horrified. Not nearly desensitized enough to the process of it all.

            “Did you feel that you had to go?”

            Bruce kept his eyes on the wall and nodded tightly, “A little.”

            “That’s good.”

            Sure. He lived for such compliments.

            By the time they made it out of the bathroom and got him back up onto the bed, Bruce was feeling like he’d earned his supper. His stomach was growling faintly and made him feel just a bit more normal than anything else had that day. He wasn’t hungry often anymore and he didn’t want to waste it. Ashika only smiled when she heard the grumbling sound of it, as she tucked back in.

            “Alfred said he made Shepherd’s pie.”

            “With beef?”

            “I believe so. He didn’t specify.”

            Bruce’s bedroom flew open and smacked the wall hard enough to jar the framed pictures on the wall.

            “Of course, it’s with beef, Bruce,” the voice was loud and warm and just a touch too much for the stuffy quiet of Bruce’s bedroom. It was just what he needed. “Alfred doesn’t make it any other way unless he wants to hear you complain for a month.”

            Ashika stepped back from him and turned to face Clark with a welcoming smile. It was strange seeing her standing next to Clark looking so small and fragile. When she was around him and they were alone, Bruce always thought of her as bigger and stronger than she was. But she wasn’t much. She barely made it to Clark’s chest.

            “Hello Clark,” she accepted Clark’s overly casual half-hug and then stepped around him, “I was just heading for the TV trays.”

            “I could get those for you.”

            “No, no,” she waved him off, “It’s easy for me to do. Don’t worry about it.”

            “Thanks,” he smiled blindingly as she left the room then turned to face Bruce with a more muted expression. “You’re looking a little—peeved.”

            “I had a run in with my speech therapist,” Bruce shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

            “Hmm,” Clark hummed, moving closer so he could peer down at Bruce with a lifted brow. As if he could actually intimidate with that boy scout hair cut and those thick rimmed glasses. “You weren’t an asshole, were you?”

            “Of course, I was.”

            “Bruce—”

            “Don’t. Start.”

            Clark ran his tongue over his teeth, but only shook his head. Bruce was glad of it. He’d just gotten calmed down about the whole thing and didn’t want to get worked up again. Not when he was looking forward to dinner for once. And was actually mildly pleased to see Clark. He’d been looking forward to the company.

            Ashika returned after a few minutes with the TV trays and a promise to check on dinner. Bruce watched her leave again and felt an odd twist in his middle when he saw Clark watching him, watching her. He quickly looked down at his lap and tried to tune back into what Clark had been droning on about.

            “Are you even listening to me?”

            “I was—trying.”

            “Sure. Did something happen?” Clark gestured over his shoulder with his thumb at the door, “Do I need to talk to her?”

            “What?”

            “Did she do something you don’t like? Do you want me to talk to her? Fire her?”

            “No!” Bruce snapped, then struggled not retract the outburst as Clark’s brows jumped, “I mean, please don’t. She already d-deals with a lot. And she hasn’t quit yet. Which is—something.”

            “Yes,” Clark mused, drumming his fingers on the mattress in a way that made Bruce want to deck him, “That’s true. But still. You’re acting funny.”

            “I’m hungry. And impatient for supper.”

            “Right.”

            “I had a bad day. I don’t want to talk about it. Let it go.”

            “Fine,” Clark grumbled, then completely switched gears when Alfred arrived carrying supper. It smelled divine and for once, Bruce didn’t complain when Clark had to help him eat it. He managed five bites on his own before giving up and Clark didn’t make him feel weird about needing help getting all the beef off his chin and neck.

            He _tried_ to remember to be grateful for the little steps. Five bites _was_ more than four. Feeling that he had to pee or shit a _little_ was better than not at all. Making it through his speech exercises without actually murdering his therapist was _something._

            He needed to cling to the little victories. Like Ashika said.

            He frowned at the door and wondered very, very briefly what she was doing and if she’d already headed off for home. She usually said goodbye for the night but that didn’t mean she had to. It wasn’t a hard or fast rule.

            “Knock, knock.”

            Bruce glanced up and found Ashika smiling in the doorway. She always smiled. That usually bothered him. It didn’t at the moment. She had her purse slung over her shoulder and she looked tired.

            He didn’t want to feel guilty about that. But he couldn’t help it.

            Bruce knew he was the cause.

            “I’m heading home.”

            “Goodnight,” Bruce offered, nodding his head at her. Then, because he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, he mumbled, “Thank you for your help today.”

            Clark’s hands twitched a little around his mug of tea, but he didn’t look at him. “Goodnight Ashika. Drive safe.”

            “Thank you, Clark,” dark, dark eyes flitted over to him and held briefly, “And goodnight Bruce.”

            When she left, Clark turned very slowly to the bed and Bruce didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning at him.

            “Bruce, is it?”

            “I said it was fine,” Bruce shrugged, “I like it better. Makes me feel less like an—” _old man_ , “invalid.”

            “I can see that. I can also see that she’s cute. Very cute.”

            “Clark…” Bruce warned, though he’d be a fool not to have noticed it as well. Ashika wasn’t some busty blond model. But she was charming. She was warm and pretty. She _was_ cute. Sometimes that annoyed him. Today, it was confusing. It was—unsettling.

            “Just saying. Food for thought. Anyways,” Bruce snorted with laughter at the terrible transition, “How about we watch the next episode of House Hunters?”

            “If you want to put me to sleep, sure.”

            “I might have had designs on that. Not gonna lie. You look tired.”

            “I am.”

            Clark smiled cheeky and stupid. “Then House Hunters, it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

            Bruce had long since grown accustomed to the boredom.

            He could spend hours staring at a wall, contemplating his existence or the cell structure of a tomato leaf or if he was ever going to be able to walk again unassisted. He could slip inside his mind and let the hours blend together and not think of anything or anyone. He was good at it. At disappearing while in plain sight. He’d had to be.

            No one mentioned in all the doctor appointments and the therapy sessions that someone could go mad from the silence. No one brought it up. But Bruce was beginning to think that they just didn’t know. How could they? They could talk about what it was like. What it would be like, to be trapped in a body that didn’t work right, or a mind that was frayed and worn, but they couldn’t actually empathize, because they were across the table. They were the ones treating you, not the other way around.

            And no one talked about it. No one said it would be harder to be lost in your head than it would to be panting out laps on a crawl bar, forcing your fucking clumsy feet to take, just one more step.

            The mind was more dangerous. And no one said anything. No one said anything at all.

            On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Bruce had physical therapy. They worked through exercises that often pushed him both physically and mentally. Mondays and Wednesdays, he did recreational therapy in the pool, to help rebuild muscle tissue gently. He liked those days best. Fridays, were usually reserved for his speech therapist. Ashika had the wisdom to keep that particular joy on a day all of its own after their last blowout.

            He was making progress in all areas at a mind-numbingly slow rate. But progress was progress, wasn’t it? Even if he spent the majority of his days either staring at his laptop, running over old case files, or staring at the walls, he was still moving. He was still going forward.

            The doctors all said he needed to give himself lots of leeway. They said he needed to journal about his feelings or talk to a shrink. They said he needed to allow himself to grieve and to not be alright.

            Bruce didn’t care for what the doctors said. They didn’t know. They didn’t know at all.

            So, he clung to strange nuances and he struggled through therapies that he didn’t feel like were helping enough and he stared at the walls, all the while wondering if this was what it felt like to slowly go mad. 

            He missed being busy. He missed working till he couldn’t work anymore. He missed the cave and the Bat and the JLA and his life. He missed his fucking life. And in comparison, none of this felt like life. It felt like a cheap flimsy B-rated movie that shouldn’t even be in existence.

            Bruce tried to make himself enjoy the schedule. He liked the pool and though his Rec therapist was a little too young, they seemed to get along just fine. He could withstand his physical therapist, though the man was borderline obnoxious with his lathering of praises. The speech therapist, he could do without. But again, he was trying. He was trying to get better at dealing with them all.

            Between Clark and Ashika, he was being battered with positivity on all sides. Battered with reason and understanding and reality. Reality was—he was getting better. And that it all mattered. No matter how small, no matter how innocuous. It mattered.         

            Having a strict schedule helped. Having Ashika there to assure that he followed the schedule, no matter how tired or crabby he felt on any given day, also helped. She knew which buttons to push or which not to. She’d grown incredibly familiar with his moods and seemed to sense a lapse in judgement even before he did. Which all helped.

            But he still felt like he was suffocating. There were days that Bruce felt so small and trapped and frustrated, that he considered what it might be like to end it all. To just—give up. He didn’t make plans. But on the bad days, when he slipped deep within the dark folds of his mind, Bruce let himself wonder if it would be better to simply just, not be. To just not exist anymore, however that came about.

            He knew it wasn’t healthy. He knew it was dangerous to think those thoughts and let them have life. But he found he couldn’t stop himself. Particularly when the nights felt long, and he was wide awake staring at his ceiling with just about every part of his body aching and nagging at him.

            So, Bruce wondered. And he let it the thoughts have their airtime. And he kept quiet about what it was like. He kept it inside because it was darker than even he was willing to share.

            And he told no one that on the inside, he was screaming. On the inside, he was unraveling.

            “Good job, Bruce. That’s it, one more step.”

            Bruce was panting, slicked with sweat from crown to ankles, dripping onto the hard wood floor. His hands were so damp he was slipping on the bars, but he was going to take one more step. He was going to.

            Gritting his teeth, his focused on telling his left leg to move, on getting the muscles in his trembling thighs to activate and carry him just a half foot further, but it felt impossible. It felt insurmountable.

            “You can do it, Bruce. Almost there,” his physical therapist was like an annoying gnat in his ear, buzzing and hovering. Too close, breathing his fucking coffee breath all over Bruce’s face. What Bruce really wanted, was for the man to back off and let him work. Alone. He wanted to be alone. He didn’t need an audience as he struggled through what shouldn’t be so goddamn hard.

            “Just one more step. One more.”

            Bruce sucked in a breath, then looked up to level a glare at the man. To his credit, Kevin didn’t even flinch at the ice in Bruce’s gaze. “Shut. Up.”

            There was a flicker of a smile in those eyes and it only made Bruce angrier. And less willing to do what he wanted. “I will when you take that step, Bruce.”

            Bruce huffed out a breath, struggling to adjust his grip on the bar. He felt perilously closet to falling down. Though he knew the wheelchair was at his back, ready to catch him and Kevin was in his face, ready just the same. He wouldn’t get hurt. Not really. Only his pride.

            “Fuck.”

            “I know, it’s hard. But you’ve done so good today. And you’ve only got one more step. One more.”

            “I. _Know_.”

            Kevin shifted, angling his head to catch Bruce’s gaze with his own. “Then show me.”

            Bruce focused on the muscles of his legs again, isolating which ones he wanted to use. His quads, hamstring, glute and calf. So many muscles for one step. Just one measly step. He flexed, lifted, and his foot inched across the floor, painstakingly, but it moved. Bruce felt like a god in that moment.

            And it was pathetic.

            But it was so good. The rush of success was absurdly good.

            Kevin immediately sat him back down into the wheelchair and then clapped him on the shoulder hard. “Great work today Bruce! You did amazing.”

            Bruce offered a snotty look in response but couldn’t look the man in the eyes. Because he was pleased about how the session went. Because he’d gone further than he’d gone thus far. And his body was singing with pain, but it meant good things. It meant he’d worked for those steps. He’d earned every fucking one of them.

            Kevin wheeled him out of the channel between the bars and Ashika was already waiting for him.

            “He did great today.”

            Bruce didn’t like how they talked like he was a kid just getting out of school. “I saw,” Ashika smiled at Kevin, then looked down to Bruce and the smile spread wider. “It was impressive.”

            Bruce’s face grew warm, so he kept his gaze down on his lap and just shrugged.

            “See you on Thursday, Kevin?”

            “You bet. I’m gonna make you do one more step than you did today Bruce, think you can hack it?”

            Bruce fought the urge to growl, “Sure.”

            “Excellent. Have a good afternoon, you two.”

            Ashika saw him out the gym doors, then returned with a soft sigh, “You could use a warm bath. If you give me a moment, I’ll draw it up and put some Epsom salt in it.”

            “Alright.”

            It sounded like heaven.

            Bruce slumped in the wheelchair when Ashika left and tipped his head back on the backrest. Beneath the overhead fan, the sweat coating his skin was already starting to dry, and it was having a strangely drugging affect. He’d nodded off by the time she returned and jerked awake roughly when she touched his shoulder.

            “Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of cotton and voice sounding thin.

            “Don’t be. You worked hard. And it’s late afternoon. I’m tired too.”

            “Are you?”

            Ashika sounded like she was smiling when she responded. They were already moving and headed towards the sound of the running water from his bathroom down the hall. “Oh yes. It’s been a long day.”

            Bruce agreed. And tried not to feel that sliver of guilt that he was responsible for her exhaust.

            There was something relaxing and not as off-putting as it should have been about being stripped and prepped for a bath. They’d gotten a rhythm down, so it was monotonous and simple. It was routine. He helped in removing the sweat-damp clothes, using every ounce of his remaining strength to not look as weak as he felt. When he was down to skin and his hands were shaking enough to betray him, Ashika kindly offered him her strength to get into the tub.

            Slipping beneath the hot water made him sigh and he didn’t particularly care that is was audible. It felt incredible.

            “This feels amazing,” he hummed, letting his eyes slip closed.

            “Not too hot?”

            “No.”

            There was a pause, a little bit of shuffling, “I’ll come back in thirty minutes then.”

            Bruce didn’t know what made him do it. Because there was no reason for it. There was no logical reason. He liked his solitude. He liked the peace. Especially after working with a therapist. But today, he didn’t want to be alone with his mind. He didn’t want to slip into the darkness that felt so much closer than normal.

            “Wait—” he opened his eyes and blinked fuzzily over to where she was standing by the door. She was wearing pink today, head to toe. Even her Nikes were patent pink. It should have made her look like a Pepto Bismol commercial. It didn’t. It made her brown skin look flawlessly smooth and her eyes very, very warm. “Could you uh—” it was suddenly hard to swallow, and Bruce looked away, “Never mind.”

            Ashika had been working with him for six weeks. She’d been a constant in his life since he’d come home. It would stand to reason that he’d formed an attachment to his caretaker. He liked her. She put up with him. Maybe because Alfred paid her exorbitant amounts, but it didn’t feel like that when it was just the two of them. It felt like she stayed because she cared. And that meant more than it should.

            One black brow rose in question and she stuffed both hands into the pockets of her scrubs’ pants. “Would you prefer that I stay?”

            “If—” would it hurt to be honest? Maybe. Most likely. “If you don’t mind.”

            “Then I’ll stay.”

            Ashika didn’t bother finding a chair to sit in. Rather, she sat delicately in the wheelchair already parked beside the tub and looked down at him with a smile that made his belly curl uncomfortably. He looked away quickly and instead focused on fiddling with the cuticles of his nails.

            She said nothing for the first ten minutes and it made oddly more relaxed. Neither one of them felt the need to fill a good silence. Ashika had proven over the weeks that she was comfortable with his often-severe lack of conversation. Still, it was nice when she did finally break the silence. It was nice because he liked the sound of her voice and the very, very faint accent she hardly spoke with. Sometimes, if his eyes were closed, he would imagine her home and remember all the sights and smell and sounds of Calcutta. He’d feel like the walls surrounding them didn’t exist.

            When he was stronger, he’d find time to visit India again.

            “Are you liking the new schedule?”

            “Yes.”

            She sighed, tipping back in the chair, making the leather groan, “It won’t be long before you’re using a walker instead of this chair.”

            Bruce pursed his lips, “It will be months.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “You’re very optimistic.”

            Ashika laughed. It sounded warm and made him sink deeper into the water to let it work over his frayed nerves. Her presence was comforting.

            “You walked further than you’ve ever walked before today. Take the win, Bruce.”

            He cracked open an eye, “I took it.”

            “Then enjoy it. Don’t look for trouble around the next corner. You are recovering at a steady pace. Every day there is progress.”

            “Yes.”

            He couldn’t deny that. It was true. If he were willing to look for it. There was progress every day. Something he did better. Something he was able to take further.

            “Would you like help washing your hair?”

            Occasionally, such a question would have soured Bruce’s mood. Because they both already knew the answer, though she always insisted upon asking. Still, it was to her credit that she asked. She never assumed he wanted the help, unless it was an absolute. There was a possibility he needed help washing his hair. Particularly after physical therapy. His shoulder had terrible range and washing with one hand was difficult enough without adding in the fatigue. Saturated with heat and worn to the bone like he was, Bruce definitely needed the help. So, she’d asked.

            Still—it chafed. To always need help. To still need help with the most innocuous tasks.

            He nodded curtly. And Ashika gave no indication that she saw the indecision or the subsequent darkening of his expression. She merely reached for the shampoo, poured some into her palm, and then started in on his scalp.

            Ashika had small hands. She kept her nails short, but he could still feel them when she scrubbed. It always had the effect of sending goosebumps down his frame and Bruce was usually good at ignoring that. Today, he had to struggle not to blush. Today, he was thinking about what Clark had said two weeks ago. And he had no idea why.  

            It felt good. It felt very good. His head lolled back on the edge of the tub and Bruce couldn’t have kept his eyes open even if he’d wanted to. She was going to put him to sleep with those small hands of hers.

           But with his eyes closed, Bruce could hear her breathing, soft and delicate. He could feel her warmth, near enough if she leaned any closer, she’d be brushing him with her front. And God, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to embarrass them both by _reacting_ to that closeness. It had been a long, long time, since Bruce had even thought about women in general. As anything other than just the opposite sex.

           That was all it was. It was just that he’d not been with someone since before the accident and his interest in sex had been gone just about as long. It was the response of a healthy male in close proximity to a female whilst naked. And warm. And relaxed.

            God. His throat felt like it was closing up. And he was fucking glad there were now bubbles covering his lower half. He needed to think about something else. Anything else.

            This had never happened before. Not with Ashika and he damn well didn’t want it to start.

            She used the showerhead to wash the soap out of his hair, then handed him a rag, already sudsy and smiled when he scowled and took it. Usually, he’d offer a few grumbling ‘thank yous’ during the cleaning process. Today, he couldn’t without betraying himself.

            Bruce remained stoic and baleful. If Ashika took note of why, she said nothing. Which was a blessing. He didn’t dare contemplate what her response would be if she had in fact noticed. He didn’t think he could handle that. Not ever.

            He scrubbed the rest of his body in silence, keeping his eyes down and his attention on the task.

            By the time she got around to draining the tub, Bruce had the situation under control and chalked up his lack of it, to being physically compromised and tired emotionally. He had no trouble when she helped towel him off and get into sweats. He felt no more of that stinging curl in his stomach that indicated he was attracted and _felt_ something about it.

            So, he was feeling considerably better, and far more like himself, by the time she helped him roughly get into bed and Alfred was striding in with a dinner tray.

            “Good evening Master Bruce.”

            “Evening, Alfred.”

            “I thought I might join you for supper and let Miss Khatri go home early.”

            Bruce lifted a brow at Alfred but said nothing that would impede it. Ashika had said she was tired. She deserved a break. “Good idea.”

            Ashika smiled, dark eyes dancing over Bruce before going to Alfred, “Are you sure?”

            “Absolutely.”

            “Then I accept.”

            “Wonderful. Shall I walk you out?”

            Ashika shook her head, moving to find her coat draped over the chair nearest the windows. “Oh no. You stay. Eat while its warm. It smells wonderful.”

            “Would you like a to-go box?” Alfred was already turning to go get one prepared. Bless the man and his constant need to feed others.

            “No, no. I’ve got plans.”

            Alfred flashed a pleased smile, “A date?”

            Bruce stiffened.

            “No. I just have some meat already thawed and it needs to be cooked,” she chuckled, slinging her purse crosswise on her body, “I have no time for a relationship right now.”

            “Sorry,” Bruce mumbled, unable to make himself look away.

            Ashika’s eyes found his and held. A second too long maybe? Did she see how he’d reacted at the mere mention of her having a date? Did she hear how fast his heart was now pounding in his ears, making him wonder what the hell was going on with him?

            He hoped not. God, he hoped not.

            “I wanted this job. I knew the hours it would be. I like my work, so you have nothing to apologize for.”

            Alfred cleared his throat and the tense strand between them snapped. Bruce blinked like he’d woken from a dream. “Well, Miss Khatri, if I can’t persuade you to take some supper, how about some dessert? I’ve made extra. And it’s a fairly popular meringue in the household.”

            “Then I suppose I can’t refuse.”

            “Of course not,” Alfred agreed, smiling warmly down at her when she hooked her arm in his elbow. “I’ll grab a serving in the kitchen for you, on your way out.”

            “Such a gentleman. Thank you, Alfred,” Ashika looked over a shoulder and the corner of her mouth rose, “Goodnight Bruce.”

            “Goodnight.”

            They said the same thing every night to one another. It was the same every day. The same ritual. The same schedule. The same activities and struggles.

            But it felt like the rules had just changed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Thanks for all the love :D

           Ashika got a little thank you card from Alfred with her breakfast tea that stated it was their four-month anniversary together. It was embossed and heavy-weighted, and signed, by both Alfred and Bruce.

            Bruce had only included his name and a simple, ‘Thank you.’ Still, it meant a great deal to her. She was seen a crucial member of the team that was getting Bruce back on his feet. And that was something to be grateful for.

            It didn’t feel like it had been that long most days. But when she looked back and saw how far they’d come, rather, how far Bruce had come, she knew that it had been. It had been quite a lot of time.

            Rehabilitation was counted in the daily wins that could stretch for miles on end. It was counted in steps taken, successful bathroom visits, and feeding oneself three times a day. It was counted in all the little ways that the rest of the normally functioning world, took for granted.

            No one knew how long time could feel, until they were reduced to counting it in those mundane successes themselves. Then it became painfully clear.

            Her hours as a nurse had been decreased from seven to seven, to nine to six. They were more normal hours, and much more conducive to having a life outside of her work. Ashika had always claimed that she didn’t live to work, she worked to live. But over the long months in Wayne manor, that had idea had been reversed.

            She looked forward to her time on the grounds. She liked Alfred’s tea and his company. She enjoyed the sturdy pay and bolster to her savings accounts.

            She liked seeing Bruce.

            Seeing him working hard, getting better, gaining ground little by little. It was a rewarding job, being able to see a man come from so little to so much over a period of time. It was why she’d chosen rehab nursing over other professions. It was why she loved her job.

            It had nothing to do with the man himself. Not really.

            Not at all.

            Ashika scowled down into her tea until the pretty brown color of it blurred under tired eyes and she was forced to move. Bruce would be expecting her for his recreational therapy at ten am. He’d need someone to accompany him to the pool.

            They’d had significant victories over the last months. All of which, had helped bring up Bruce’s mood and those who worked around him. He’d been abnormally pleasant to work with and had so few outbursts in the last week, Ashika had been feeling a little on edge that they were due for a large one. 

            Bruce could now toilet all on his own and had stopped sleeping in the padded diapers to protect from leaks. He could feel the urge to urinate or defecate almost one hundred percent of the time. Though he claimed the urges were faint. He’d just gotten better at listening to them closely.

            They had also graduated from the wheelchair, to the walker. Bruce took the walker for laps, any time he was given permission. He padded down the hall outside his room, as long as his body would allow him. Sometimes for up to an hour. It was slow work and his gait was rather unsteady, but he made it work. It was oddly hypnotizing to watch him go back and forth with that determined set to his brow and his lips clamped white as he focused through the discomfort and frustration.

            Pain medication had all but stopped. He took a daily Aleve and only occasionally asked for the Codeine to help on bad days.

            Perhaps Bruce’s favorite success, he’d had his last session with the speech therapist a week past. After he’d made the determination to start saying tongue twisters in the mirror every morning, noon, and night, he’d been a wild man to get rid of the therapist. Mrs. Cottrell and Bruce had bid each other adieu with a grudging sort of respect that had been laughable.

            There would be more therapists. There would be new goals. For years, probably. But he was going to eventually stop needing the care he was getting now. He was going to be able to walk without a walker, to get from point A to point B without having someone hovering nearby.

            Ashika was proud of him.

            That was all it was. She was proud, and she’d become fond of him and he her. They liked one another because they’d had to. Spending such close proximity with a person formed bonds. So, Ashika did not dwell on it. She dared not.

            “Good morning Bruce,” Ashika said brightly as she knocked perfunctorily on the doorframe when she entered his bedroom. He was sitting at his desk by the window, much like she found him every morning now and was perched over his laptop. That much, had not changed. He looked up from his work for a brief moment and his eyes cleared from work with difficulty. When working, Bruce could absorb himself in it to the point of no distraction.

            “Good morning Ashika.”

            “Did you sleep well?”

            He nodded, “Yes. Did you?”

            She shrugged, “As well as can be expected. I’ve got a new neighbor and they are terribly noisy.”

            Bruce frowned, “What floor are you on?”

            “The second. Right in the middle. My mother keeps telling me I should move out. Get a house or a townhouse that doesn’t have someone on top and bottom of me.”

            “I tend to agree.”

            She raised a brow, “You would of course. Anything to be in opposition.”

            His smile was soft and not quite full. A little sleepy yet. He must not have been up for long then.

            “Are you ready for recreational therapy?”

            Bruce rolled both shoulders, then turned to reach for his walker. “Yes. You know how much I love the pool.”

            She did. It offered a great deal more freedom than he currently had with gravity. Ashika understood how freeing that might be. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

            He’d started moving, inch by inch towards his dresser and was steadily making progress across the room. “Maybe.”

            Dressing was occasionally still difficult. As was anything that was fine motor. Little tasks, like writing, even typing, and dressing where it involved a button was hard for him. His fingers shook from what the doctors called an essential tremor. It had to do with the nervous system and the damage he’d done to it. It was likely permanent. They didn’t discuss it, because it usually made him furious, but it was still there.

            An ugly truth that silently mocked.

            When he’d reached the closet, he turned and sat heavily on the seat pad of the walker, then started rifling through his clothes to find the swim trunks he was looking for. Anyone else’s might have had an elastic waistband and a couple draw-strings. But these were designer and they had a button.

            He would try the button on his own. Then he’d let Ashika help.

            She waited on the sidelines as he fumbled to get out of his sweatpants and t-shirt. He lived in sweats because of their comfort, but also because of their ease of use. He could usually get them on and off by himself now. T-shirts were occasionally a problem with the poor rotation in his shoulder. The physical therapist had him working on motor exercises to increase the flexibility of the joint. But the doctors had mentioned a possible surgery again to clean up the scar tissue and increase mobility.

            As far as she knew, Ashika did not think Bruce had decided what he was going to do yet. Though she’d bet he’d get the surgery.

            Stripped down to his skin, Ashika half-turned to allow him a little privacy as he shimmied awkwardly into the trunks. Now standing, but leaning against the wall, he tried several times to get the button in the loop, then finally sighed with a frustrated sound.

            “Need a hand?” she asked, pleasantly smiling at him when those brown-green eyes floated up to hers. For a very small moment, it was difficult to swallow.

            “Yes.”

            She strode over, impersonally reached to his waistband and flicked the button in the loop. The contact was brief. The feeling of her knuckles grazing his belly, was even more so. But her skin felt warm as heat crept into her cheeks and Bruce’s gaze was a firm press on her own even after she stepped back.

            “We should get going.”

            “Yes, I suppose we should.”

            It was true. It would take them quite a bit of time to get down to the pool. Not bothering with a sweatshirt, Bruce stayed shirtless and barefoot on their trip down the hall and to the elevator. As she was informed by Alfred, Bruce had nearly gained all the weight back from before his accident. Though he would have quite some work to do to gain the muscle mass yet. She often wondered what he’d looked like before. She’d seen pictures yes, but they didn’t look like Bruce. Not like the one she knew.

Ashika carried his towel and water bottle with a book. She’d read during the hour of therapy.

            Coming into the pool room, she was hit with all the smells she’d grown accustomed and settled into her spot at a table inhaling chlorine like it was the scent of flowers. Bruce’s mood was always good at the pool, so she supposed that was why this place had come to mean a place of comfort for her.

            Ashika listened occasionally to the hum of Bruce’s therapist, Greg, giving comments or suggestions. And the hour slipped by far too quickly. When Greg was telling Bruce good job and getting out of the pool at the steps, Lanie dog-eared her page and moved to stand up too.

            “Could I stay for a little while longer?”

             Ashika blinked down at Bruce who was bobbing at the side of the pool, then frowned, “It’s your house, you can stay in as long as you like.”

            “I just—” he swallowed, “I didn’t want to put you out. If you had other things you’d like to do.”

            “Bruce, you’re paying me for my time. I’m here for you.”

            “Right,” he nodded, looking abruptly away, “Of course.”

            It felt like perhaps she’d said something wrong. Or done something wrong.

            Ashika waved absently as Greg headed out the side door and waited a moment for Bruce to say something else, because it looked like he might. But then he pushed off the edge and paddled out deeper into the water. She’d seen him swim before and it was strangely beautiful to watch the tension melt from his frame. It was as hypnotic as watching him lap in the hallway with his walker. But different.

            Because this man wasn’t one who was hobbling with a walker down a carpeted hallway. The one who entered the water and bit through it with long lean lines, was one who was control and power. He was strong and sure of himself. Lethal.

            That was what it was. It was that he was lethal.

            Shaking herself, Ashika forced her legs back to the table, and sat with her book. But she didn’t read anything. She stared at the page. She listened to the gentle lap of water on tile and the swish of it as Bruce came up for air.

            When he went to the stairs where they’d left his walker, Ashika robotically came to join him. She dried him off at the edge of the pool, let him use her shoulders to get his momentum, then held his hips as he straightened his legs and forced his feet to flatten rather than arch. Everything about their time this morning, was all the same as it ever had been.

            But for some reason, this oddly random morning with all its regularity and simplicity, felt harder than normal to delude herself into thinking that it was OK. That everything wasn’t slowly coming unraveled.  

            Ashika knew it wasn’t OK. She knew her thoughts weren’t as professionally detached as they’d been months ago. She knew her _feelings_ were not as detached as they ought to be.

            It made her short with him when they got to his room and he asked her for help onto the mattress. He was exhausted, and she could see that, but a part of her wanted to snap at him for taking extra time at the pool. He wouldn’t be so exhausted and unable to get into bed by himself had he just done the therapy and that was all, would he? No.

            She was a patient woman. She was a woman who took her job seriously and had never, not once, allowed feelings to get in the way of that.

            Until now.

            It angered her. It made her want to lash out at the person who’d made her feel these inappropriate, unprofessional feelings. Which wasn’t fair. But it was still true. It still burned her and made her clumsy.

            But she hadn’t meant to hurt him.

            Ashika felt outright ashamed of herself when he winced as her fingers dug in too tight on his hip bones pushing him to the middle of the bed.

            “I’m sorry.”

             Bruce was staring at her from the nest of pillows he had to sleep in and his eyes were darker than normal in the dim lighting. She’d already drawn the curtains, so he could nap. She wished now that she hadn’t. The darkness felt too intimate and somehow _more_ revealing.

            “It’s alright.”

            She nodded sharply, moving to leave, to get some space, but he stopped her with a hand still pruned from the pool. His skin was warm on hers.

            “Are you upset with me?”

            The question was too soft and the look in his eyes too intense. Did he know? God, she hoped not. She hoped he didn’t sense what was going on inside of her head. Because she’d have to put in her resignation notice right away. She’d have to leave and never come back.

            And she couldn’t do that. Even she could be that honest with herself.

            Ashika shook her head, “Of course not. You did well today.”

            He watched her another moment, then the hand dropped, and he sank deeper into the pillows. His pinched brows said that he didn’t like her answer. That he sensed there was more. “Could you wake me in an hour?”

            “Absolutely. Alfred said he was making grilled salmon for lunch.”

            “Hmm,” Bruce liked salmon, but she knew it wasn’t a favorite. He’d eat it because he was expected to. And because it made Alfred happy.

            “I’ll be back in an hour.”

            She kept her promise and she kept her feelings to herself.

            Three days later, Bruce found blood in his urine and they were sent to the urologist. Alfred insisted that he didn’t need to come along for the visit and surprisingly, Bruce agreed. He offered a polite smile to Ashika, as if the change in the status quo was completely normal, and they left alone.

            Just the two of them.

            Gotham General was a big hospital. Big enough it had a shuttle that took them from the parking garage to the urology department on the twentieth floor. Bruce kept silent for their walk, but it was a long one, even with the shuttle, and he was peppered in sweat by the time they got to the waiting room.

            “You don’t suppose I’ll go back to those godawful diapers, do you?” Bruce mumbled, grabbing a Life magazine from the table beside him.

            Ashika shook her head but smiled despite the sour tone to his voice. “No. It’s likely an infection due to the artificial bladder. A round of antibiotics and you’ll be home free.”

            Bruce hummed, but his eyes flickered over the room with quick nervous jerks and his right hand had started to twitch incessantly on his thigh. He didn’t like the doctor’s office anymore than most of her patients. It was something of a PTSD to sit across from a white and be given bad news. Ashika had seen the symptoms of it many times, but still, it made her want to reach for his hand and hold it. To thread their fingers together and promise that it would all work out.

            That wasn’t her job.

            His body, not his mind. His physical, not the emotional. But she cared. God, she’d come to care so very much about both.

            The doctor called them back ten minutes later and took them into a wide enough room for Bruce to navigate with his walker. The urologist was friendly and kind. He didn’t flinch when Bruce got growly and frustrated about being there. He hardly batted an eyelash when even the mention of possible ‘accidents’ due to a bladder infection made Bruce savagely angry.

            But he did look a little ruffled when Bruce went even further downhill. 

            The tantrum was short-lived. But Bruce made a mess of the exam room. He tore up the paper on the exam table. He chucked a glass of tongue depressors into the wall and screamed a few horrifically nasty insults at the urologist who’d backed up into a corner of the room and was holding his clipboard up as a shield.

            In the end, Ashika ended up having to lay on top of Bruce to get him to calm. She used her weight to immobilize his kicking legs. And she pressed down hard enough he sucked in a pained breath, to get him to drop the handfuls of cotton balls he’d been gearing up to throw next.

            The urologist handed her a prescription for antibiotics, told them to go to the ER if the blood in his urine got worse, then astutely slipped out the door and left them alone.

             Ashika stayed on top of Bruce until his breaths were regular and soft rather than sharp and fast in her ear. She stayed until his muscles went lax and he made a noise that sounded like he was reaching for the next phase of his emotional outbursts.

            Then she let him up and found a box of tissues.

            And she said nothing to him.

            He cried. He wiped his face with the tissues she gave him. He sunk into himself and let the silence remain between them all the way to the car.

            When she got him into the passenger side and then loaded up his walker, he finally spoke.

            “I’m sorry about that.”

            Ashika kept her eyes on the road. From experience, Bruce did better when she wasn’t looking at him. He was always humiliated by his lack of control when his emotions got the better of him. Though this time had been in public and not in the safety of his home.

            Ashika imagined that made things worse for him.

            “You couldn’t control it.”

            Bruce shifted, moving to grip both hands fiercely on his knees. “I—I tried to.”

            “I know.”

            “Why don’t you ever get mad me?” the question surprised her. As did the emotion behind it. He was upset with her.

            “My job isn’t to get mad at you.”

            “Job—” he ground out the word bitterly, “Everything is about the job.”

            “What?” Ashika found herself saying, though she’d not meant to. It was better to keep her thoughts to herself. This was not a relationship. She was his nurse, he was her patient. Emotions always ran high during certain stressful periods of the working agreement. Ashika had run into this before. The patient wanted to mean more to her than just as a patient. They wanted to matter, on a personal level.

            The problem was, he did matter. A lot.

            “You’re cool as a cucumber. Cold. I could fucking rip a wall down and you’d still be there, talking soft and sweet. Completely unaffected.”

            “Is that what you think I am, Bruce?” Ashika’s voice had dropped to a whisper, but she knew Bruce could hear her, because he’d stiffened in the passenger seat. His knuckles were bone white on his legs. “That I am completely unaffected?”

            “Yes.”

            “You’re wrong.”

            “Then how can you—”

            “Bruce it is my job to be calm. It is my job not to panic when you do. It is my _job_ to remain in control and ‘cool as a cucumber’. That is why you pay me. That is why I am here.”

            They took the on-ramp to the freeway and she could see Bruce mulling it over. Thinking about what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. When he wasn’t like he’d become at the doctor, she admired his ability to think and plan and manipulate. He was thinker and a good one at that. He was good at seeing all the angles and compartmentalizing.

            But she was not expecting his next words to hit her in the stomach so hard. Or for them to steal her breath entirely.

            “Is that all I am to you? A job? Is that all this is?”  


            It was natural to grow attached. It was natural to have feelings to some degree. But she couldn’t give voice to what had been growing beneath her breastbone since she’d walked into his home and seen him lying in that bed.

            Because it terrified her.

            “Yes, Bruce. That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.”

            He sucked in a breath and Ashika bit her lip and focused on their drive home. He didn’t say anything else the rest of the afternoon. Not even when Alfred brought supper and she said goodnight.

            It was the first time he’d not said goodnight in four months.


	5. Chapter 5

             In the morning, Bruce didn’t offer more than what was necessary to get through the day with Ashika. He didn’t talk about the unseasonable weather they were enjoying in Gotham or how he was looking forward to the boys all being in the manor for the long weekend or how Clark would be coming over for supper. He didn’t say any of those things because he knew that he shouldn’t.

            Because it was grossly inappropriate to do so after Ashika had so neatly put him in his place. A line had been drawn in the sand between them that hadn’t been so clear previously.

            And it stung immeasurably.  

            Bruce understood the whys of it. He understood the hows. That didn’t make the sting any less lethal or his humiliation any less complete. He might as well have confessed his feelings like some fucking toddler over a microphone after already having shamed himself at the urologist’s office. He couldn’t remember another time he’d ever wanted to scream so badly than those few breathtakingly frightening moments in that car with her.

            He’d been more vulnerable with Ashika in those minutes than he’d been their entire time working together.

            And the burn still hummed along his veins as a flesh-eating toxin.  

            Anyone who got within a foot of Bruce knew he was in a foul mood. He hissed at Alfred for waking him too early, though he’d not been sleeping well anyways. He mumbled rude words under his breath when Ashika tried to be polite and pretend like nothing had happened between them the day before until she left and stayed gone. He sulked in his misery until he was a fine pissed off soup of regret and rage and wanted to rail at the injustice of it all.

            He needed to be productive. To do _something_ to make this better. Anything.

            So, he found himself lapping in the hall with the walker, dripping sweat, plugging through step after step, desperate to make himself feel better. Desperate to not feel so trapped and small and idiotic. But it wasn’t helping. His feet would catch on the carpet and he’d snarl. His breath would back up in his lungs and he’d have to stop and catch it, just to feel like he wasn’t going to collapse.

            God, he used to be able to run _miles_ without stopping. His cardio had been legendary. Bruce had been able to bench-press double his weight. He’d squatted nearly quadruple that. Speed bag? Heavy bag? Jump rope? Trapeze? A breeze. He used to come up with ways to make his workouts harder because they weren’t hard _enough._

            Everything was different now. Everything.

            With a reconstructed pelvis, his center of gravity was off because he was full of metal and heavier. His legs had rods in them and his feet had neuropathy. His hands shook twenty-four hours a day. He’d spent the last months relearning how to simply move without falling over. For God’s sake, he’d only just stopped using a fucking diaper at night to prevent leaks.

             He was a joke. A fucking joke.

             What had he been thinking even hinting at Ashika that he had feelings for her? That she could have them for him? Aside from the obvious physical setbacks, he was a fucking wreck emotionally. Wildly swinging from rage to sorrow to absurd pettiness. He’d never been so out of control.

             He’d never hated himself so strongly.

             Sure, there had been hate before. It was part of what had fueled him as the Batman. How could it not? Bruce had used it. Harnessed it to power his long nights and warm him when he nursed broken ribs and lonely dinners. But this was different. It was darker—more insidious than anything he’d ever experienced.  

            “Move,” he growled, forcing his legs to move, though the muscles protested and quivered. He was pushing too hard and he was well-aware of it. He didn’t care. He could fucking push until he snapped in half for all he cared. He was going to keep walking. He was going to keep moving if it killed him.

            Maybe that’s what he wanted.

            “Bruce,” the word was gentle, but Bruce felt like it had been shouted. He jolted when he saw her staring at him from the doorway to his bedroom, her eyes wide and confused. “What are you doing?”

            “What does it look like?”

            Ashika’s expression wavered between frustration and control. Always controlled. “Pushing yourself too hard.”

            “Maybe I am,” he snapped, pressing onward, “It’s not your concern.”

            “I beg to differ. I am your nurse. It is exactly my concern.”

            Bruce was forced to stop again to catch his breath because there were spots in his vision and if he wasn’t careful he was going to pass out in a heap on this fucking runner and prove Ashika right. “If I need your help—I’ll call.”

            “Bruce,” she started, then stopped because he levelled her with a venomous glare. The moment between them wasn’t particularly long, but it felt like it. It felt like he stared at her for hours, begging her to help, while screaming at her to leave him be. Just let him ruin himself. That was all he was good for now. All he’d ever be good for.

            Line in the sand. Hard, cold, and permanent.

            Then she backed off and slowly walked down the hallway. Every step she took further from him, Bruce wanted to call her back. He didn’t. He couldn’t make his mouth work because it was full of cotton. He felt sick watching her go. Sick and frustrated and angry. Always so fucking angry with everyone and everything. He was tired of it.

 

 

             Bruce punished himself for days.

             Ashika watched it happen and didn’t stop him. She suffered silently and offered even less support than she would normally. He didn’t want her help. Not really. He was making that clear and there was something so very painful about knowing that Bruce was furious with her, that made her want to lash back out at him. She was doing the right thing. How could he not see that? Ashika was protecting them both.

             She recognized her own feelings for what they were; aberrations, inappropriate, unprofessional—and tidily put them back into their box. If Bruce couldn’t see she was saving them both from ruin, then no amount of trying to make him understand would help.

              She’d done her part. Now she had no choice but to stand back and watch.

             On the fourth day, a Monday, late afternoon, Ashika found him curled up on the floor beside his walker in a sweaty quivering heap beside his walker.

              The first bolt of panic was far from the feelings a nurse might experience in reference to her patient’s well-being. It was frightened feelings for a man she cared deeply about. Far too deeply.

              She kneeled at his side, ignoring the jolt of pain when she saw how drenched he was in sweat and how fast he was breathing. Panting out breath after breath like his life depended upon it. She _ached_ to see him like this. To know she was the cause of it.

              “Bruce,” Ashika whispered, throat tightened to the point of pain. She cupped his face, smoothing her thumbs over his brows, pushing the bangs off his forehead to stare down into a face she’d come to know almost better than her own. “Bruce?”

               He blinked a few times, sluggish and confused, then his gaze settled on hers and he startled.

               “What am I—why are you—h-here?”

                “Bruce, you are in the hallway. You must have passed out.”

                “I-I don’t—” he swallowed convulsively, obviously struggling to find words. He was more than disoriented from the fall. He was exhausted. And like a coward she’d let him get like this, rather than confront him. She should have tried to stop him. “I don’t remember.”

                “May I help you?”

                 It was a question she’d asked before. A question that gave her patient a right to refuse, because she believed in the freedom to choose more than anything. Bruce needed to want to get better. It had to be his choice. If he chose to punish himself and set himself back by overdoing it, then that was his choice. He was a grown man. Despite his current predicament, he was allowed to choose to hurt himself.

                 No matter how much it hurt her to stand by and watch it happen.

                “I—” he blinked, eyes glossy and still fogged with heavy confusion, “Yes. Yes, you can help. I don’t think—I don’t—I can’t get up.”

                She nodded, expecting as much. “Give me a moment.”

                Pulling out her cell phone, Ashika called for her backup and waited for Alfred to come quietly up the staircase to join them. Alfred said nothing when they put Bruce in his wheelchair again because his legs were so overtaxed they wouldn’t hold him. He said nothing still when they wheeled Bruce into the bathroom, bathed the sweat off his trembling frame and then deposited him in his bed with careful soft movements.

                 Ashika suspected the only reason Alfred resisted offering a thorough dressing down was because Bruce was in pain. A great deal of pain.

                 Even drifting off the moment he was ensconced in his bed, Bruce’s brows remained drawn together, his breathing erratic and worrying. He looked pale and sick buried in all those black pillows and blankets. He looked small.

                 Guilt was a painful press beneath her breastbone.

                 When she and Alfred left the room a moment later, it came as no surprise the older man wanted to share a spot of tea with her. It came as no surprise either that after the perfunctory bits of conversation, he started in on the interrogation portion. Ashika had been expecting as much. She deserved as much.

                 All things considered.

                 “Master Bruce has always been a difficult man.”

                 Ashika smiled, sipping delicately at the steaming tea. “I can see that.”

                 Alfred nodded, “Yes. He’s strongly opinionated. Mule-headed and stubborn. But he also has one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever seen. It’s a good one. Gentle and soft when others are willing to see beyond the barbs he places to protect it.”

                 Ashika’s gaze fluttered up to Alfred’s and she swallowed around the lump in her throat. This was going to be harder than she’d expected. Harder, because she respected Alfred. She’d grown as fond of him over the last months as she had of Bruce. The man was no fool.

                “I can see that too.”

                 Alfred sighed, “Then you know that he is also the hardest on himself.”

                 “Yes.”

                  “He’s been punishing himself for days. I can only imagine that has something to do with you.”

                  Ashika’s heart dropped to her toes. A floating delicate leaf, papery and easily damaged. “I—well, yes. It probably does.”

                  “I am aware it is going to be presumptuous to ask this, but frankly, I don’t care. What does it have to do with you? Has something happened between you? On a personal level?”

                   “No, no,” Ashika found the words tumbling out of her quickly, as she put the tea down, so she wouldn’t slosh it all over Alfred’s pretty white table cloth. Her hands were shaking. “Of course not. That would be unprofessional.”

                    Alfred’s frown deepened, “Are the feelings he has for you, not mutual?”

                    “I beg your pardon?”

                   “I know Master Bruce well, better than anyone, and it has become obvious to me over the months of your care of him that he has developed feelings for you. Beyond what would be called simple affection. He cares for you. Deeply.”

                    “I—” Ashika sucked in a panicked breath, “That isn’t—”

                    “My dear, I am not concerned about you reciprocating those feelings. I am concerned that you do not.”

                    “What?”

                    Alfred smiled, but it was weakened with sadness, “Master Bruce is not the same man he was a year ago. He will never be that man again. It’s been a horrifically painful journey for everyone involved. But he was doing better. He was—almost happy. And I have no one else to thank for that, but you. So I will ask again, do you not reciprocate these feelings he harbors? Is that the source of contention between you two?”

                    “Bruce is my patient.”

                    Alfred blinked, “And I am his butler. But he is still the closest thing to a son I’ve ever had.”

                    “I hardly think those are comparable.”

                    “Alright, then I must insist that we contact the nursing agency and start grooming someone else for the position.”

                    Ashika blanched, “Yes,” her mouth was so dry it felt like a desert, “Yes, that makes sense.”

                    “Does it?”

                     “I—” she blinked back a shine of tears that had snuck up on her and then forced herself to nod again, “Of course it does. My staying will only make things harder for Bruce now. He needs someone who can help him. I’ve compromised myself.”

                    Alfred’s expression smoothed almost completely but she sensed his unhappiness acutely. “It will take time to procure a replacement. Until then, we will have to make due. Can you manage?”

                    “It’s not a hardship caring for Bruce.”

                    “Then it’s settled. I will call the agency and see what can be done. Until then, not to worry. This will sort itself out.”

                    His words were said softly, like a grandfather comforting an errant child, but Ashika felt them like knives in her skin. She nodded in agreement, pushed back from the table, then walked robotically out of the kitchen and down the hall. When she’d reached the stairs that would take her back to Bruce’s room, she felt frozen.

                    Her joints locked up and she couldn’t take another step.

                    The manor was so quiet her breathing sounded harsh in her ears. Loud and grating as she felt the full brunt of the panic pressing in on her. She only had a few more weeks with Bruce. A few more weeks and then she’d be reassigned to another home, to another patient and she’d never see him again. It would be over.

                   And he’d live out his days hating her.

                   Because deep down, he had to know she’d lied. Bruce had come to mean more to her than she had any right to. How could she willingly lose him?

 

                    Bruce woke to Clark perched on the edge of his bed, wearing his usual plaid button-down and a frown that would be laughable except it that it had the capacity to make Bruce squirm.

                   “What did you do to yourself, Bruce?”

                    Bruce squinted, glanced at the bedside clock and then groaned, “Hello to you too.”

                    “No, you don’t get to joke right now. Alfred called me and explained what stunt you pulled. And frankly, I’m a little shocked. I thought you knew better.”

                    “Apparently, I don’t,” Bruce hissed, rolling painfully in the bed to give Clark his back. Petulant? Absolutely. He didn’t care. He was in no mood to speak to anyone. He’d rather hibernate in the darkness and nurse his aching body alone.

                     Ashika would have already left for the night. He wished he’d at least been awake to apologize. Or to—

                     “Bruce, talk to me. Alfred told me you’ve been acting off for days.”

                      “Alfred doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

                      Clark snorted, “Alfred knows you better than anyone.”

                      “It’s nothing.”

                      “Not nothing.”

                      “Clark,” Bruce ground out, screwing his eyes shut to focus on his breathing. He didn’t want to lose his temper, but it felt close to boiling over already and he’d just woken up. He suspected it was because he felt like both of his legs were going to fall off. His hips alone felt like someone was grinding their fucking brass knuckles into them. “Please. I’m tired. I went too hard, alright? I fucked up. But I don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t mean anything. Let it go.”

                     “Alfred told me he spoke with Ashika and she’s going to be transferring.”

                     Bruce stiffened, eyes snapping open.

                     “It will take a few weeks to find a good replacement, but then she’ll be reassigned by the nursing agency.”

                     “Did she—” Bruce choked back the urge to throw something. To roar like a feral lion who’d been pricked with a needle. “Did she say why?”

                     “Alfred suggested it was time for a change for her. She’s got a lot going on.”

                     “Yes.”

                     Him. She was leaving because of him and what he’d said in the car. How he’d behaved after the fact. Bruce was going to be sick. In all his imaginings, somehow, he never pictured Ashika not being there for the next steps. She was there when he pictured walking without the walker or running or getting that shoulder surgery they’d talked about. She was there for the next doctor appointments and therapy sessions.

                    She was there months down the road. A year. Maybe longer.

                    But that had been a fantasy he’d silently been building and not even aware of how damaging it could be.  

                    “Bruce?”

                   “Can you get me to the bathroom?”

                   Clark leaned over, frowning, “What?”

                   “I’m going to be sick.”

                   Clark didn’t need anymore prodding. He scooped Bruce up and flew him to the toilet in record time. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was all the lactic acid build-up in his muscles or the pain meds he hadn’t taken in a while or if it was simply the emotional upset, but he wretched until he was breathless and empty. And then he dry-heaved till his eyes were watering and he was gripping the toilet bowl to keep from collapsing.

                   “Bruce. What can I do? Tell me what I can do.”

                   “Nothing,” Bruce murmured, weak as a kitten and very, very close to tears. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand then peered up at Clark and felt like a fool. A crippled, washed-out, fool. He should have expected as much. He should have known Ashika would leave. It made sense.

                She didn’t feel the same way. His feelings complicated their working relationship and she needed to go. It made logical sense. She was doing the right thing.

                 It felt like having bamboo chutes stuffed up his nails.

                 “Let’s get out of here.”

                “Where would we go?” Bruce scoffed, settling his back against the tub. “In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t go anywhere.”

            “In case you haven’t noticed, I can fly.”

            Bruce rolled his eyes, “Maybe I don’t want to go anywhere. Maybe I want to simmer in my own self-pity and stay in.”

            “No.”

            “No?”

            Clark shook his head, “No. Let’s go.”

            Clark flew them over Gotham bay, with Bruce wrapped tightly in a thick woolen blanket, drifting in and out of sleep. The wind was frigid on his neck and face, but soothing. A balm to the bitterness he’d let grow rampant. Bruce soaked in the brine and curled into Clark’s warmth with little thought to how weak it made him look. Certain things he’d moved past. His obstinance about being carried was long gone. At least when it came to Clark.

            Flying like this, being outside without the constraints of the walker or the wheelchair, was freeing. Bruce was glad Clark had insisted they go.

            When they slowed, and Clark hovered over the crush of salty waves that battered the coastline, Bruce peered down into the black depths and wondered how long it would take for him to drown if Clark dropped him.

            Probably not that long.

            A morbid thought, but one he’d considered before.

            “Do you want to talk about it? About Ashika?”

            Bruce shifted, refusing to acknowledge that he was actually nuzzling Clark’s neck because it was warm and the wind picking up off the waves was frigid.

            “No. It won’t change anything.”

            “It might make you feel better.”

            “Nothing is going to make it feel better. Unless you have a magic fucking wand and can make all of this—” he gestured at his body, “go away.”

            “Bruce, you’ve come a long way.”

            Bruce’s silence was answer enough that he didn’t feel like that mattered. Because in the grand scheme of things, he’d stopped caring as much about the progress he was making and had started caring more about when Ashika was going to wake him up. When she was going to leave. What she’d packed for her lunch and if she wanted to take in a movie with him in the study.

            He’d been a fool.

            “I don’t know who I am without her now.”

            The words were a whisper quickly snapped up by the wind and stolen. But Clark heard them. Bruce could feel Clark swallow, could feel those supernaturally strong arms tighten over his frame, protectively. He was grateful for Clark’s friendship more than he’d ever been before.

            “You’ll figure it out. We’ll help you.”

            Bruce nodded, wishing that didn’t sound so ugly. So disappointingly empty. “Yeah. I know.”

            “Ready to head back?”

            “Could you take us by the lighthouse first?”

            Clark chuckled. He loved lighthouses. Bruce was already on his way to sleeping. He wouldn’t be awake to see it. But Clark would get a kick out it, so it would be worth it. “I’d love to.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been published! If you are interested in romantic suspense novels, please check out my book, Dayton's Island on amazon. Copy and paste the link below.
> 
> https://www.amazon.com/Daytons-Island-Phantoms-Book-1-ebook/dp/B07LGF2Z1V/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1545353387&sr=8-1&keywords=Dayton%27s+Island 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and for commenting such sweet things. And if I don't update before then, Merry Christmas!!!

            Bruce woke the next morning to the acute sensation of pain in his legs and low back. Every line in his body went taut and rebelled against him. His pelvis felt like it was on fire. A low moan made it past his lips when he tried to sit up, then nothing else, as he had to grit his teeth against the waves of sweltering pain.  

            Muscle spasms could be a daily occurrence, due to the tremendous amount of scar tissue webbing the contours of his body. He’d not had any in days. He imagined these particular buggers could be credited to his laps in the hall. From him overdoing what his body could handle.

            These were excruciating.

            He panted through the first minute, which blended into two, then three. Bruce was peppered in sweat and gasping by the time he realized they weren’t letting up. And didn’t appear to want to. Desperation was a hard cut down his middle, making his mouth taste like bitter copper.  

            Of course, that was when Ashika came in.

            She stopped inside the doorway, purse slung over a shoulder, wearing pale blue scrubs and stared at him for only a breath. Only a heartbeat of hesitation, then she was striding to the bed and rubbing vigorously at the bowed-up muscles in his quads, digging her thumbs into the hard cramps roughly. He cried out the moment she touched him and tried to get away. Instinct demanded it.  

            “Deep breaths Bruce. It should stop in a moment.”

            He growled at her, dropping back into the sheets, struggling for breath. His back was starting to cramp too, clamping hard on his spine, forcing him to arch awkwardly. “Fuck.”

            “Breathe.”

            “I’m—trying.”

            Ashika kept working and Bruce counted in his head, ticked off the seconds in a whispering chant to prevent himself from giving in and screaming. It was a close thing. A very close thing. He gripped the sheets for dear life and focused on Ashika’s voice.

            “Breathe in. Breathe out. It will stop.”

            “It will stop,” he whispered back, near delirious from the pain, “Stop.”

            “Yes. Good job. Keep breathing Bruce,” the pressure from her hands never let up, never weakened and her voice stayed quiet. A soothing banner above the shimmering currents bombarding his muscles.

            It should have been irritating to have her keep repeating something he already knew to do. It wasn’t. Her soft voice was an anchor and he grabbed on with both hands. She rubbed, he breathed, and after another three more minutes--a century--the spasms started to settle enough he wasn’t ready to cry like a baby anymore. Everything still ached and twitched, but it was better. He could breathe.

            Five minutes more and he was completely limp, wiped of energy and only just feeling human again.

            When he sagged into the sheets, Bruce expected Ashika to step away. Job finished. But she remained and kept rubbing, smoothing out more of those aches he’d given himself, digging her thumbs into the notches of his muscles, kneading softly but with a steady dose of pressure.

            It took everything in him not to groan with how good it felt.

            Her hands kept contact with his body as they dipped to his knees and dug into the joint there. He bit the inside of his cheek, closed his eyes and tried to relax. It was difficult not to think about who’s hands were on him. It was an exercise in control not to ask her what she was thinking, why now, after she’d put in her resignation and was leaving him, she was also being so kind.

            So familiar and gentle.

            “You overdid it.”

            “Yes,” Bruce whispered. The room was still mostly shadows as the drapes hadn’t been pulled and with Ashika so close to him, it felt a little like everything could shatter if he spoke too loudly. Like this dream might end. 

            She’d finished his knees and had gone down to his calves. He was fast turning into a puddle of tissue with little coherent thoughts. Ashika was efficient as she worked the muscles, and even more so when she ruthlessly dug at the insteps to his feet and made him suck in a sharp breath.

            “I’m not hurting you?”

            “No.”

            “Good,” she murmured, voice still in that quiet wisp as she worked. A moment later and she was back at his side, running her hands up the tops of his thighs to rest on his hip bones. Bruce’s stomach dipped painfully. After he'd had his pelvis restructured it frequently ached, just for the sake of it. But with his foolish exercising in the last days, his stabilizer muscles in the pelvis felt tremulously weak and inflamed. 

            But it would be Ashika touching him there. Ashika rubbing muscles that were perilously close to other parts of him he'd done his best not to think about with her image in his mind. But had. 

            “Hip flexers?”

            The question shouldn’t have sent a thrill clear to his toes. But it did. He nodded, very much aware of her being so close, of her touching him like this. Like an addict being presented with his crutch, he couldn’t say no. Ashika’s deft hands briefly fluttered over the bones of his pelvis, the protrusion of hip, then skated to the muscles just beneath them. She kept her touches firm and business-like, but Bruce had to concentrate a lot harder than he wanted, to be unaffected. It took so much effort not to make a sound, not to move at all, that he was trembling. Ashika frowned at him and lightened her touch.

            If she knew the real reason he was trembling, she might run. 

            He said nothing to stop her when she smoothed both hands up his stomach and worked the muscles of his obliques too. Even through a t-shirt, he felt like he was on fire, melting from the inside out.  

            When she gestured for him to roll over, Bruce did, gratefully.

            And then he did groan.

            It would have been impossible not to. Going from the pain to this—this pleasure, this comfort—was heady. And intoxicating.  

            Ashika had magical hands. He’d pay to have her do this again. He could never be happy with her doing this just once. It felt outright sinful that she could affect him like this with something so platonic. But he couldn’t deny it. Everywhere she touched was like electricity tickling just beneath his skin.

            Bruce was incredibly relieved that he was now lying on his stomach.  

            Clearly, she had strong hands that didn’t tire easily as she dug into the muscles with a focus that was admirable. Undoubtedly using her knowledge in anatomy, she followed groups of muscles with the pads of her fingers and ground down the knots in his shoulders. Gradually he started to relax even deeper into the mattress and forget where he was. Or who was even here with him. It had been so long since he’d felt like this. So long since someone had touched him like this. She forced the taut pressure and pain which always seemed to linger in his low back into submission too and when she finally lifted her hands off his skin, now red and warm, Bruce could barely keep his eyes open.

            “Thank you.” He sounded drugged.

            “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I never offered before. It seems to have helped a great deal.”

            “S’okay.”

            She hummed, “Would you like a short nap?”

            “Maybe,” Bruce swallowed, licked his dry lips, “Yes. Thank you.”

            It would be good to have space again. Perspective.

            “Good. I’ll be back in an hour and then you can get dressed for the day. We have work to do.”

            He was asleep before she left the room.

            An hour later he was being prodded awake and groggily accepting a cup of coffee in both hands. He drank deeply, peeled his eyes open and didn’t argue when Ashika offered to help him get dressed. Bruce was a little too uncoordinated still from the muscle spasms. It was difficult just not spilling his coffee down his chin.

            She tugged a black t-shirt on over his head. Helped him step into black track pants, thick socks, and a sweater. He wasn’t really cold, but Bruce appreciate the thought behind it. In fact, he greatly appreciated every little nuance of Ashika’s care and her presence. She was thorough but gentle. She always asked before just assuming about the things he might like.

            When they went into the bathroom and she asked him if he’d like a shave, he smiled politely and accepted it. The tremors in his hands prevented him from doing something like shaving without making a bloody mess of it. But he had to go somewhere else in his head when her hands touched him again.  

            It was impossible not think about how she would be leaving him soon and these flashes of time together, however remote and distant, were all he was going to get.

            So, like the sadist he was, he forced himself to enjoy because they were the last. He savored her fingers on his pulse when she counted it then wrote it down in the daily journal she kept. He said nothing when she absently pushed his bangs off his forehead, reminding him he needed a haircut. He sat quiet and just watched.

            Tying his shoes was still a difficulty but he managed a loose bow and she nodded in approval before escorting him down the hall to where he’d planned on seeing the physical therapist in the gym. He was in too much pain for the walker, so he had to use the wheelchair and eat a slice of humble pie when Ashika’s brow knitted as she watched him struggle in by himself.

            They were being careful around each other. Very careful.

            And Bruce didn’t like it.

            Physical therapy was lighter than usual, because of his pain levels so he worked on his weaker arm. The shoulder rotation was still crap, but his hand grip was gaining momentum and he could squeeze much harder than a few weeks ago. Still, physical therapy was always a source of contention for him. He wanted to do more. More now, more in the near future, more much later. It was never fast enough and there was always the niggling fear of how much he could accomplish before he’d reach a wall. An end, as it were.

            Ashika remained as a steady companion throughout the session and when it was over, she wheeled him to the elevator and they went to the kitchen to have lunch with Alfred.

            Alfred had prepared BLT sandwiches with tomato soup. Usually a favorite. The sandwich stuck in his throat and he didn’t bother with the soup.

            “You’re not going to eat?”

            Bruce shrugged, “I ate.”

            “You only had half of a sandwich. How about some soup?”

            Ashika's expression was chastising, "Bruce, you know that you shouldn't skip meals. You've only just gotten to a healthy weight."

            "I'm not hungry."

             She pursed her lips, shook her head then folded both hands on the table. Fully prepared to fight him on it. He'd seen the look before and was equally prepared to fight. His hands were too weak, too shaky, his stomach too hollow. If he ate, he'd likely throw it all back up anyways. After making a mess of himself. 

            "Bruce--" a warning, elegant but deadly. 

            “As you well know,” he bit out, “soup is difficult on a good day.”

             There was a pause in the kitchen, one that said a great deal of things and Bruce could see in Ashika's gaze before she spoke that she understood where he was coming from and was going to win. Just like that. 

            Ashika sighed, nodding, “And today is not a good day. I apologize.”

            Bruce stiffened, “Don’t. Don't apologize.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            His gaze flickered up to where Alfred was standing and the butler quietly left the kitchen. Bruce silently thanked him. “It might be a bit late for me to be saying this Ashika, but I thought after all the time you’ve spent here, that we were friends.”

            He had her full attention now. Ashika neatly wiped the corners of her mouth, then turned those warm brown eyes on him. “We are.”

            “Then why—” apparently he was going to be doing this now, “why did you not speak with me before requesting a transfer?”

            If Bruce wasn't hallucinating it, her color drained a little and she went pale. “I thought to tell you myself.”

            “When?”        

            “Today. Did Alfred tell you?”

            “No. Clark did. Alfred told Clark.”

            “I see.”

            “Please,” Bruce hissed, his hands fisting in his lap, “Don’t do that.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Bruce’s gaze narrowed on her, “Yes you do. You’re distancing yourself. Shutting me out. I understand that there can never be anything—anything more—but we talked. We got to know one another. You’ve seen me at my worst and helped me through. Even if there can be nothing else,” Bruce felt his throat threatening to close, “I would still like to be your friend.”

            “Bruce—”

            “Please.”

           

 

            Ashika knew it took much for Bruce to say that one word. For him to ask her to remain friends despite the sting to his pride. It made her want to scoot closer, fold her hands over his and test the waters by pressing their lips together. He wouldn’t back away. He wouldn’t be repelled by the intimacy. Maybe that was why it was so much harder to deny the feelings she harbored for him.

            Because it was obvious he felt the same. He wanted more and had said as much.

            It was her putting the brakes on. Ashika who was systematically destroying things between them.

            “Friends might be difficult. Considering.”

            “Yes,” Bruce nodded, clenching his jaw, “It will be.”

            “And you still think it worth it?”

            “Yes.”

            “What if I don’t?”

            He lifted a brow then reached across the table to grab her hand. His fingers were like silken steel warmed by the sun. Ashika’s breath caught in her throat.

            “If you didn’t want to be something to me, you wouldn’t have helped me this morning like you did.”

            “I only did what was—”

            “No. You did more. Don’t say that you didn’t.”

            Ashika looked away, at anything other than his open expression. At the mixture of annoyance and victory on his face. “Alright.”

            “Friends then?”

            Ashika nodded, “I’ll still be leaving Bruce. It’s for the best.”

            He let go of her hand and sighed, “If you say so.”

            The comment allowed room for argument. She gave none.

            By the afternoon, Bruce was working at his desk, feverishly trying to type and mumbling curses every five minutes when his fingers wouldn’t allow him the speed he wanted. After a solid twenty minutes of allowing him the attempt, Ashika rose from her chair, put down her book, then went to his side.

            “Can I help?”

            He blinked up at her, glasses on the end of his nose, and scowled. It was difficult not to laugh at him when he looked like an angry little grandpa hunched over his work. “No.”

            “You could read whatever it is you want written and I could get it done for you in very little time.”

            “No—” he snapped, then clearly tried to rein himself in, “No, thank you.”

            Ashika smirked, went back to her chair and waited. Five minutes later, Bruce slammed his laptop shut and wheeled himself towards his bed. Wordlessly, Ashika moved to join him at the edge where she offered an arm. With brows drawn and face taut, Bruce worked himself up and into stand. He barely used her arm as a balance more than necessary. It could be frustrating if she didn’t know him so very well. She’d expected as much. He looked pale when he eased onto the mattress and Ashika felt her concern for him ratchet just a little higher.

            His fatigue was palpable.

            “Can I get you anything? A drink? Perhaps some meds?”

            He sluggishly blinked at her, “No. Could you stay a moment though?”

            Ashika hesitated, then, “Alright.”

            Sitting back in her chair, Ashika fully expected Bruce to slip off into a nap straight away. He usually still needed one around this time. But he stayed stubbornly awake, watching the curtains flap on the open windows, gripping a hand in the bedding like it was a lifeline. There was something painful about watching him think. She could see it in the twitch of his mouth or the flare of his nose as he hit a roadblock or a gap in his memory and had to forge through. Everyone said he was brilliant. That his mind had been his best asset—before. Ashika imagined that out of all of his injuries, the TBI had been the most disappointing.

            “Do you ever go back to India?”

            Ashika smiled, bringing herself back, “Yes. Often as I can. Have you been?”

            “A few times. It’s a lovely country. Very colorful and rich in history.”

            It did something to Ashika to hear him speak about it like that. With fondness and genuine reverence. “I still have family that live there. My mother and father came to America to give us a better life but they still love India.”

            “Understandable.”

            “What were you thinking about before?”

            “Hmmm?” cool gray eyes flitted to her and held.

            “You were thinking about something but grew frustrated. Perhaps I can help.”

            “No,” Bruce’s lips compressed into a thin line, “No it’s—it’s just business related. Much of my work from before the accident is difficult to remember fully. I try and it’s like wading through swamp water.”

            “Is your goal to return to work when possible?”

            He blinked at her, his hand gripping the sheets harder, “I—I don’t know.”

            “You don’t have to know now Bruce.”

            “I want it. But I don’t think—I don’t think it will be possible. I’m too physically damaged. There are other ways—to be useful. I just—it’s hard to think of them sometimes.”

            There was an ache blooming beneath Ashika’s breastbone, one that cried for Bruce and what he’d lost. That urged her to move closer, wrap him in her arms and soothe. To kiss those creases from his forehead, smooth those worries off his lips.

            She kept herself firmly planted instead.

            “That will get better.”

            “Perhaps. You heard the doctors. Everything is relative. They aren’t certain how far I will progress or what I will accomplish. Every brain injury is different. I was in a coma for months.”

            “Yes, you are blessed to be alive.”

            Bruce swallowed, “Am I?”

            “Bruce,” without consent, her feet were moving and taking her nearer. She tried not to touch, not to break her own rules, but the ache was too strong. The need, too bitter. She grabbed his fist on the sheets and squeezed and his gaze jumped to hers.

            “You are blessed. It may not always feel like it, but you are very loved by your family. Having you here, in any capacity, is better than not at all. And you can do so much more than we ever thought possible already. You are strong. The strongest man I know.”

            His mouth tipped, “I bet you say that to all your patients.”

            She smiled, resisting the urge just barely to move her hand and brush it down one of his cheeks, “No.”

            He blinked, and she abruptly stepped back.

            “Ashika?”

            “I should go Bruce. You need your sleep. You’ve overdone it again. I will let Alfred know what you’d like for supper. If you’re awake, I’ll say good bye then.”

            Bruce looked like he wanted to say more. Like he wanted to have Ashika explain what she’d meant. Why her eyes were saying different things than her mouth. But she couldn’t do that. And maybe he sensed that too because he fell silent and said nothing when she gathered her things and left.

            The next weeks were going to be long.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on vacation for a couple weeks and couldn't write while I was away. So when I got home, the muse hit and now you get a long-ass chapter. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading <3

“Master Bruce, I believe everyone is finally here.”

“Everyone?” Bruce asked, adjusting the collar of his shirt in front of his bathroom mirror.

“Yes, sir.”

“Clark too?”

“Yes, sir. They are eager to see you.”

Bruce nodded, pushed off the counter, then adjusted to lean his weight into the walker. He followed Alfred slowly, one plodding step in front of the other. It was a measured process but one he was learning to be happy with.

Damian was home from university just for the weekend. Bruce saw Tim and Jason more often as they still lived in Gotham. Timothy was the head of WE and did all the day to day operations for the company Bruce had spent his younger years building. Jason still ran a small automotive repair shop in the narrows and lived in a crappy two-bedroom that he’d likely never give up. Dick’s home remained in Blüdhaven and his work as well. He had the highest record of closed homicide cases on the police department and had made a name for himself outside the Wayne legacy.

Bruce was proud of all their achievements. He was proud of who they’d become as individuals and it had been too long since he’d had them all under his roof together.

Of course, they’d been supportive of his recovery. They’d all spent varying amounts of time with him in the hospital and had visited with admirable frequency over the months he’d been home, despite his sour moods or outright fits of rage. Dick had been the least perturbed by his altered behaviors. Tim, probably the most. Bruce had known the accident would affect each other them differently. That it would alter their dynamic, particularly as Bruce’s ability to remain Batman had become all but a memory.

They worried over his well-being. They coddled and flitted around him with kid-gloves. It was well-meaning and good-natured. But it could also be suffocating. He’d not seen all the boys in the same room in two months. He was hoping his ability to walk into the room under his own power, albeit with the walker, would ease some of the tension that seemed to remain a permanent fixture between them all. In time, perhaps years down the road, they’d reminisce about the bad times they’d overcome, and Dick would tell a joke or Jason would punch him in the arm and laugh about how old he was getting. He’d be able to walk into a room without drawing all their attention with worried furtive glances. Bruce would feel—normal again.

Things changed.

Life moved on.

It was what Bruce told himself when the self-pity and the bitterness grew to a blinding degree. When he wanted to rail at the injustice of having his body taken from him. Bruce wasn’t fool enough to think that he could have kept up with the cowl forever. But there was a very large part of himself that was still grieving. Still unable to come to terms with what his new reality would look like in the end. Seeing the boys invariably reminded him of what he’d lost as much as it reminded him of what he still had.

“Do you need a moment, sir?”

Bruce had stopped in the hall, breathing a little raggedly as he was forced to catch his breath. It wasn’t just the memories. It wasn’t just that he was feeling a little raw and a whole lot naked at the prospect of seeing everyone all at once. It was that the one person he could think of for it feel—less—wasn’t here. Wouldn’t be here. He’d grown too comfortable with using her to help him simply get through the day and not just physically.  

It was Ashika’s day off. The perfect time for a family get-together. The perfect time for Bruce to show that he could manage on his own. Without her.

Bruce wished he didn’t feel hollowed out at the notion.

“No. Just—go on ahead. I’ll be right there.”

Alfred lifted a brow, clearly deciding whether or not to argue, then left. Bruce leaned heavily into his walker, breathing in slow deep breaths that were meant to ground him. It helped. A little. His days of being able to meditate his way into controlling his emotions were also a thing of the past.

Assuming Alfred had brought everyone to the study for refreshments, as per his usual preference, Bruce went there first. He could hear them all before he saw them. Loud, boisterous and already squabbling. He was smiling before he pushed the door open.

It was to their credit that the pause in activity was brief when he entered. Five pairs of eyes were on him, assessing and calculating. Observing the walker, his halting steps, and his expression. Bruce felt every bit of it. He bristled, forced himself not to glower and moved deeper into the room where Clark hadn’t moved off the loveseat.

“Bout time you showed up, old man.”

“I was primping.”

Dick snorted, “Obviously, look at you. Spiffiest I’ve seen you in months,” a wide grin split his oldest’s mouth, his eyes gleaming, “Seriuosly, B. You look great.”

Bruce swallowed, aimed a thin smile at him, then sat heavily beside Clark who was looking decidedly proud of Bruce. It made Bruce uncomfortable.

The attention shifted a little, Tim and Damian disengaged from an argument about stocks and bonds, then they were all seated, eating Alfred’s shrimp canapes and discussing the upcoming political elections. It was all very—domestic. Absurdly so. Like they were trying hard not to discuss anything outside of their ordinary lives so as to not upset Bruce. It put him in a sour mood.

By the time Alfred came to gather everyone to the dining room for lunch, Bruce was struggling not to snap at them all. On the trek to the dining room, Clark kept pace with Bruce and silently offered a hand of support on Bruce’s aching lower back.

“They mean well Bruce.”

“I know.”

Clark sighed, “They don’t know what to do any more than you do.”

Bruce stopped, his spine going rigid, “I don’t appreciate being treated like a child.”

“That isn’t what they’re trying to do.”

“Oh?” Bruce snapped, hands gripping the walker with brute force, “It’s not? Because a year ago, Jason would have been updating me about the narrows and his work as Hood. Dick would have already brought up a case he needed pointers on. Damian and Tim would have already gotten into an argument about budgeting for that poly-fiber high-density weave suit I was working on. And you—” Bruce stabbed a finger at him to emphasize his point, “You would have brought up the League. And everyone on it. What they were doing, how they were doing it. You’ve always had a big mouth. Never would shut up.”

“Bruce—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.”

Clark’s expression darkened, “Bruce, that’s not fair. If you want to talk about the League or about WE budgeting or about vigilante work, then you need to say so. Otherwise everyone is left thinking those topics are no longer allowed. Everyone is left thinking it isn’t safe to bring that stuff up.”

“Right,” Bruce sneered, “because I’m a loose cannon. I could snap at any time because I can’t control it anymore.”

“You—”

“Is everything alright?” Dick had moved out into the hall and was standing with his arms folded over his middle.

“Everything is fine,” Bruce growled, “I was just trying to have a good old-fashioned argument with my best friend. Is that allowed, mom?”

Dick’s hands went up, palms out. “I was just checking, B.”

Clark shook his head at Dick, a warning in his eyes, a sure sign of trying to placate and prevent a full-blown argument. It made Bruce see red. It made him feel small and childish for getting surly. “It’s fine, Dick. Thanks for checking. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Bruce looked down at his feet, at the glossy dress shoes he’d not worn in so long Alfred had to polish them. He’d put on slacks and a familiar black turtle neck. All so his sons would see him as less fragile, more independent again. More—himself. He was trying. He was trying so hard and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He shouldn’t have bothered. He should have just shown up in his usual getup of sweatpants, t-shirt, and sneakers.  

“Bruce?”

Dick had left, and the hall was empty. It was so quiet Bruce could hear the dull press of his pulse in his neck and ears. He could feel every inch of his skin stretched taut on his bones. 

“Bruce? Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Bruce—”

“Let’s eat.”

Clark blew out a breath, turned towards the dining room, then said nothing. The red was fading from his vision leaving him feeling empty again. Leaving him cold. If Clark understood that, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was willing to let Bruce make his own choices. And he was still willing to respect that. It was what Bruce needed and he was grateful for it.

Mid-way through lunch, which was twice baked potatoes with grilled chicken and steamed broccoli, Bruce was tired. He listened to the boys talk more about their jobs and their lives. About nothing and everything. He silently assessed their health and happiness with what they didn’t say as much as with what they did.

Tim seemed happy with his work at WE. He’d been stepping in most often as Batman. Putting in appearances here and there to keep the image alive. But the majority of his life had moved to civilian endeavors. And it seemed to suit him. Bruce was glad of it.

Damian was enjoying Metro U. He liked the other students and was looking forward to Graduation in the following year. They’d not spoken about Batman and who would be filling those shoes, but it was obvious to Bruce that Damian was ready. More than ready. And they’d need to discuss it. They’d need to discuss how Damian wanted to proceed. If he’d wanted to live at the manor so he could have access to the cave. A thousand other details.

Bruce wasn’t ready. He didn’t like to think about it. It would make everything that much more—final. So, he steered his attention away from Damian’s future and found it snagged on Dick and Jason instead.

Jason hadn’t brought up Hood, but Bruce wasn’t a fool. He kept himself informed about the whereabouts of the Hood and how he’d made impressive strides in cleaning up the narrows. Hood had recently dismantled a fledgling crime syndicate that dealt in hallucinogens marketed towards children. The drugs had come in little candy packages and tasted like cherry jolly ranchers. Hood had been instrumental in helping Gotham PD shred the underbelly of the organization. Bruce couldn’t be more proud of that.

And then there was Dick. Dick who was a rising star in Blüdhaven Police Department. Who volunteered his time at homeless shelters in between patrolling the streets as Nightwing. Who was dating a woman named Kory quite seriously and had said nothing about it. Of course, Bruce knew. How could he not? He kept tabs on all of them.

He might have been bed-bound, decrepit and ruined, but his mind was—well it wasn’t gone. He had moments that thinking was a strain. Moments where he knew information and had to struggle to pull it out of the recesses of his memories. It frustrated and crippled him. It made him feel inhuman and weak. But he still had a brain. And he still watched out for his sons.

“You’ve been quiet old man. What’s new for you?”

“New?” Bruce blinked up from his plate, having decided to just stop eating rather than show that his hands were shaking too badly not to make a mess of it. Clark was watching him, had noticed, but apparently wasn’t going to say anything.

“Yeah,” Tim shrugged, “What’s new?”

“Nothing.”

“Still have therapy every day of the week?” Jason asked, pushing around chunks of uneaten broccoli on his plate. He never was fond of anything green.

“Yes. Except for Fridays.”

“That’s right,” Damian smirked, “I heard you finally got rid of your speech therapist.”

Bruce smiled a little, “We weren’t particularly fond of each other.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Dick laughed, “How is Ashika?”

There was a tiny, tiny moment where Bruce had to school his expression before it outed him. Before it showed too much, but then it passed and he forced his face into the semblance of a smile. He’d almost made it a full two hours without thinking about her. “Good. I believe she wants to pursue other things though. She’ll be leaving in a few weeks once we’ve trained a new nurse.”

“What?” Dick had stopped eating, was leaning over his plate with brows furrowed in confusion, “When did they happen? I wasn’t—”

“It’s relatively new. And not a big deal,” Bruce tried for light and simple. Tried to sound unaffected. It didn’t quite pass. Not from the looks the boys were exchanging. Everyone had stopped eating and was staring at him, glancing at Clark like they might find answers there as well.

“Does she need a raise? Better benefits?”

“No, I don’t think—”

Damian was scowling, arms folded, chin lifted, “There must be something we can offer her to stay. Clearly there has been a misunderstanding of some sort. She cares a great deal about your care. We’ve spoken many times over the phone about it.”

Tim nodded, “I can look over her contract and giver her a call tomorrow, we can discuss—”

“No,” Bruce gritted the word out.

“But B,” Dick said softly, “She’s been wonderful with you. And you two really seemed to work amazingly well together. There’s been so much progress. I think it would be a shame for her—”

“I said—no.”

“Bruce—” Clark was reaching under the table, trying to hold his hand, silently trying to calm him. It wasn’t working.

“What if I contacted the nursing agency directly to discuss upping her benefits? Would that work better?”

Damian frowned, “It doesn’t make sense. She told me a few weeks ago how much she loved working here. That she’d never seen someone progress with Father’s ailments so well.”

“Exactly,” Dick said adamantly, turning to Tim with no intention of stopping the conversation, despite Bruce’s reddening face. “Tim, could you—”

“Enough! Just—stop it! She’s leaving. It’s over. Let it go.” He’d not meant to yell it. But he had. He’d practically screamed it.

Any chance of not revealing his true feelings on the matter immediately vanished and with a whole host of new questions to be asked. Ones he didn’t want to answer at all.

Silence fell. Heavy and wet. Ugly.

Bruce swallowed thickly, pushed himself back from his chair and shakily tried to stand up to his walker. It took two attempts, both of which left his face flaming, but he finally managed and was out the dining room door rather quickly, all things considered. Bruce struggled down the long hallway and headed straight for the pool.

He had moved without thinking. But it made sense. In a roundabout way.

The pool meant freedom. All the sounds and smells of this one room in the manor had become a soothing balm to his mind. A place where thoughts and fears and limitations—meant nothing. He’d likely have stripped naked and started laps if he wasn’t already too tired for it. If he wasn’t certain he might not be able to get out of the pool on his own if he dared enter it to begin with.

 It was where Jason found him an hour later. Bruce had moved to the stairs and was sitting at the edge, his pants shoved up, feet pruning in the warm water, staring vacantly out at the diving board. He’d calmed considerably but immediately tensed when Jason drew near.

He didn’t want to talk about it.

“Clark said you’d be here.”

“Clark should mind his own business.”

Jason snorted, plopped down beside him then started tugging off his sneakers and socks to join Bruce. “Clark gives a shit about you. Big surprise.”

Bruce had nothing to say to that, so he stayed quiet and watched the pool water bump lazily into the filter instead.

“Tell me about Ashika.”

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

Jason shrugged, “She seemed nice, the couple times I met her. I liked her smile. Petite but helluva lot stronger than she looks.”

“Yes,” Bruce managed around the tightness in his throat.

“You care about her.”

“She’s my nurse. Has been almost since I got home from the hospital.”

“That’s not a denial.”

Bruce looked up, stared at Jason for a beat, then forced his eyes back to the pool, “No. It’s not.”

It was a damning statement and a vulnerable one.

“Is that why she’s leaving?”

Bruce flexed his jaw, wanted to deny it, wanted to not have this conversation at all, but finally nodded. “Yes.”

“She doesn’t feel the same?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Hmm.”

“Exactly the advice I needed. Thank you.”

Jason laughed loudly, sloshing the water at their ankles onto Bruce’s slacks. He didn’t care. The knot of anger and the bitter helpless feeling in his middle was lessening. He wanted it to last.

“There he is. Mr. Surly and Sarcastic, alive and well.”

“I never left.”

Jason cast Bruce a wry smile. “I know, B.”

They fell quiet again, enjoyed the gentle warmth of the artificially heated water and Bruce felt his eyes slipping closed without his consent. He could doze off easily but it was probably close to four in the afternoon and that might make it harder to sleep later.

“We care about you.”

Bruce cracked open an eye, looked at Jason, “I know.”

“But we don’t always know what to do. How to help you.”

Bruce grunted in reply. They were venturing into dangerous territory now.

“When the accident happened, it was a shock for everyone. We didn’t think you’d live, let alone be able to recover enough to speak and walk.”

Bruce closed his eyes more firmly, tried not to think. If Jason wanted to talk, if he wanted to rehash the bloody battle wounds of the last year, then he needed to. Bruce could suck it up.

“It was—probably the hardest thing this family has ever been through.”

Bruce’s eyes flickered open, immediately thinking of Jason dying, of so many other instances that were worse, harder, more painful—

“For us B.”

“I don’t—”

Jason shrugged a shoulder, “It was the hardest thing we’d ever been through with you. We’ve almost lost you through the years. It’s part of the job. It was always on the table that you could die. Hell, that someday you would. But having it happen outside of the Bat, somehow made it—harder. More visceral. You weren’t invincible. And all the months of recovery, all the weeks of sitting in the hospital, praying you’d even wake up from the coma we had to put you in—it fucked things up.”

Bruce blew out a steady breath, fisted his hands. “No shit.”

“Not just for you.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, old man. We didn’t have it near as bad as you. Nor could we ever. That isn’t what I’m saying at all.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That it’s been hard. And that we don’t know what we’re doing. We don’t know how much is too much. We’re still figuring this out. Just like you. And we’re sorry that we suck at this.”

Bruce’s voice came out in a croak when he spoke next, “You come up with that all on your own, or did they all help you?”

Jason’s smile was fast and welcome. Familiar. “Oh, I can come up with some pretty good original shit every now and then.”

Bruce let go of the edge of the pool, thought briefly of standing up then stayed put. He wanted to say this. Maybe it wouldn’t help anything. Maybe it would. He just—needed some of the pressure in his chest to lessen. He needed it to not feel so tight and painful.

“I want—”

When he trailed off and didn’t finish, Jason edged closer, shocked Bruce to his core by grabbing one of his hands, then nudged him. “You want?”

“I—” Bruce blinked, felt traitorous tears blur his vision then looked down where Jason and his hands were wound in his lap. Jason hadn’t touched him like this since he’d been in the hospital. Since it was touch and go. He was surprised how much it meant to him. How good it felt to be touched without the need to help him behind it. Just for the sake of it.

“I want you tell me things like you used to. I don’t want everyone tip-toeing around me. If I—If I snap, then so be it. If I yell or I—cry—then that isn’t going to end the world. But I can’t—I can’t pretend—I can’t not talk about before—about what I was—what we were—and pretending otherwise, not saying anything about Hood or—Nightwing or Robin, it’s worse. It’s so much f—f—fucking worse than just talking at all. I just—I need to be kept in the loop. I need it.”

Jason was squeezing his hand so tightly it hurt a little. Bruce welcomed the tingles of pain. It staved off the crying. It made him feel less fragile than he was. “We can do that.”

“I’m not going to break.”

“No. But we almost lost you, old man. It—changed us.”

Bruce swallowed down the tears, swiped madly at one of his cheeks as one slipped out of his control. “I know.”

“But we can do better.”

“It isn’t—”

“We’ll do better,” Jason said firmly, cutting him off, “We just didn’t know what would hurt you more. We were trying to protect you.”

Bruce nodded, understanding. Hating it. Wanting to rail all the more for it. His life would never be the same. And every time he felt like he’d gotten a handle on it, every time he thought he might have managed to get to a better place of understanding or acceptance about his new reality—shit like this happened. He had family over and lost his temper because he remembered he wasn’t Batman anymore and everyone was trying to protect him from that.

“You need help back to your room?” Jason offered after a moment, his voice a little rough, eyes a touch glassy, “Or are you going to be an ass and deny it?”

Bruce choked out a laugh, “I’ve had enough assholing for one day.”

“Good,” Jason grinned, sniffing as he stood up and offered both hands to haul Bruce up, “Let’s get you up.”

 

 

           

 

Ashika spent nearly all of Monday morning with Alfred going over a list of candidates for her possible replacement the agency had sent over. She nixed a few, starred a few others, and by eleven, felt a little sick to her stomach when they were through. Alfred had been nothing but kind since the decision had been made to replace her. She’d been equally professional if not a little detached in response.

The reality of her leaving became more visceral by the day.

She wouldn’t have tea with Alfred in the breakfast nook before shift anymore. She wouldn’t likely sit with him and fold laundry in the afternoons or take in a British soap in the family room while Bruce napped either. Those things would be relics and memories she’d hold dear once she left Wayne manor.

Ashika wished it didn’t hurt so very badly to think about.

At a quarter to noon, Bruce asked Ashika to take him to buy a few new pairs of pants. He’d gained back some of the weight he’d lost, though not all of it, and wanted something other than sweats to wear. He still couldn’t fit into his old clothes, as they would simply fall off. He’d been making due with a belt on the occasion he needed to put on slacks but was fed up. Alfred argued that he could buy the clothing himself, Bruce groused about being able to pick out his own, and Ashika quietly agreed to take him shopping.

In fact, they’d make a little adventure of it.

They drove into downtown Gotham for lunch first and stopped off at a café that Bruce claimed had the best paninis he’d ever tasted. He was of course, correct.

Sipping water with lemon and crunching on homemade kettle chips, Ashika felt a little humbled by the way Bruce was enjoying himself. There hadn’t been many opportunities to relish going out for the sake of it over the last months. His energy level, therapies, and doctor appointments had taken up too much time. But this day, they had nothing on the schedule. Nothing at all.

“How is your prosciutto?”

Ashika smiled, wiped her mouth on her cotton napkin, “Delicious. How’s the salami?”

He smiled back, “Spicy. I’ve missed this.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t been out sooner. Fresh air looks good on you.”

Bruce dusted his hands of crumbs, looking out the street that was clogged with taxis and angry commuters with a look of contentment. She’d never seen anything so rewarding. He deserved that happiness. She was glad it was finally coming back to him, however small or slow.

Bruce had been peppering her with questions all of lunch, so it wasn’t a surprise when after another long moment of studying Gotham, he turned back to her and began again. Ashika liked the casual back and forth, the ease of which they communicated.

“Where did you go to nursing school?”

“Penn State.”

“Good school. Damian picked something closer to home, but I think he would have liked to be further away.”

Ashika smiled, “I doubt it. Damian strikes me as the type who likes to stick close to home. Gotham has his heart. Much like that of his father.”

Bruce blinked up at her then offered a half-smile, “I guess that’s true.”

“How was your family? Did they all come on Sunday?”

“They did.”

“And?” Ashika mused, sipping on her water, propping her feet up on the rails under the table. If she leaned a little, she’d be playing footsy with Bruce. A dangerous thought.

“And it went well. Dick is doing wonderfully in Blüdhaven. He’s closing cases left and right. Damian is completing his classes, desperate to graduate and be done with it. Tim has everything in hand with WE and Jason has never had more business at his shop.”

A clean and concise report that couldn’t have been delivered more dryly. If he didn’t want to discuss any of his emotions when it came to his boys, then she wouldn’t push it.

“They sound busy.”

“They are.”

“I bet you miss all the noise in the house.”

Bruce shrugged, but there was a shadow of pain that flashed in his eyes. “I got over the empty nest syndrome a year into Damian’s freshman year of college. It’s not so bad.”

“You miss them though.”

He smiled, wry and soft, “It would be hard not to.”

“I admire that. My father always worked when I was child and wasn’t around much. I love him and he loves me. But we don’t really know each other.”

“But you’re close to your mother?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“You’re an only child, right?”

She smiled, toyed with her straw, “Yes. It never bothered me much. I like my solitude and I have my mother.”

“I imagine work doesn’t leave much time to socialize.”

Ashika shook her head, “No. But I don’t mind it. I’m not lonely. I have a cat. I like my free time to be spent on myself. Is that selfish? A little. But it suits me.”

“It’s not selfish.”

“No?”

Bruce’s eyes found hers, looked warm and inviting. Soft. “Not at all.”

After lunch, Ashika drove Bruce to the clothing store he suggested, and she tried not to balk when a valet took the car as they stopped off in the front. It was one thing to work for Bruce Wayne, to care for him on a daily basis—because she often forgot about his wealth and who he was when she was so often in the manor—it was an entirely different experience to see it firsthand.

The sales clerk was dressed in a clean navy suit. All sharp lines and neat tailoring. It had to cost more than a year of her lease. He found them their own dressing room, which was more like a dressing suite and Ashika sat on the padded bench waiting while Bruce discussed what he was looking for.

It was impossible not to find him attractive. She’d helped him into a pair of slacks and done up the button for him. Had stood carefully remote as she finished up the collar of his shirt, helped him get into a blazer that he deemed appropriate with the slacks. The belt had to be cinched to the max, but he’d managed with a little guidance on his own. Ashika had dressed the man only a matter of hours ago.  

She’d even tied the laces on his dockers. It was an intimate thing to know. To have done. It was—strange knowing more about Bruce Wayne and who he was than most anyone else on the planet. Sure, his sons knew him. Alfred did too. But Ashika was with him every day, saw his every facial expression, his every hiccup. Knew where his freckles and scars were. Could say with certainty the exact places on his body he didn’t like being touched because it hurt too much.

It built things. Did things. Changed things.

By the time the salesclerk brought back a few pairs of dark wash jeans and an assortment of slacks to try on, Ashika was feeling a little warm. And like a thousand butterflies were in her stomach. She needed to control herself better.

It was no different to help Bruce undress in this room than it was at home. No different to accidently brush the muscles of his stomach with her knuckles as she undid the button on his slacks here than it was in the privacy of his room. But it felt different.

She stepped back when he was out of the slacks, waited while he shimmied into a pair of the jeans using the seat of his walker as a stool, then walked back to his front to help with the button. It was all wordless actions. Things that didn’t need words. But Bruce seemed especially stiff when she moved in and tried to close the button into the loop for him.

“I’m sorry,” she started, fumbling a little, face flaming as she felt his warm breath ghosting over her cheeks. He smelled like his shampoo—tea tree oil and mint. Like Alfred’s laundry detergent favorite, Persil. Bruce was holding himself up on his walker, his biceps straining a little under his weight. She’d noticed how veined and aesthetically pleasing his arms and hands were before now. But her eyes couldn’t seem to stop staring at them. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. A moment later, far too long of a moment, where her knuckles kept brushing his stomach and he was breathing like he was in pain, then she finally got the button in.

“There,” she stated quietly, aware her voice sounded thin, “that was a difficult—button.”

Bruce blinked down at her, swallowed. The tension between them was palpable. “Sure. Yes.”

He turned for the three panel mirrors, stared at his reflection, then shuffled closer with his walker to view himself.

“Do they look alright? They fit better in the waist.”

“In a few months you could probably wear the ones in your closet without them falling off of you.”

He nodded, “But until then—I want more than sweatpants.”

“Then those will—,” Ashika paused, stared at his denim-clad backside for a moment too long then quickly looked away, “those will certainly do.”

“Could you help me with the next pair then?”

Ashika helped Bruce try on three more pairs of pants, all of which he ended up purchasing. He also ended up getting a couple of button-downs, undershirts, and for shits and giggles, a new tie. Ashika mentioned how it brought out the color of his eyes and he added on the four-hundred-dollar item without even blinking.

She dreaded to know how much the total bill was and was glad she would never know.

Once finished, it was obvious Bruce was lagging a little but he seemed determined to stretch their visit out. She didn’t blame him. Sure, the city was smoggy and a little too warm. The sound of sirens never seemed to stop, and it smelled vaguely like trash in most parts, but it was outside. There was a breeze and there was a pulse in the city that couldn’t be denied. A rush that Ashika had only ever found in Gotham. She’d lived there for close to ten years and come to fall in love with it.

“Let’s go to the park over on fifth.”

“The park?” Ashika mused, turning a corner, angering a pedestrian who was about to step off the curb without even looking. “I think that might be a bit much for today Bruce.”

“We don’t have to walk. We can just sit on the bench. Stare at the fountain and feed the pigeons.”

“I don’t have any bread.”

“Alfred packed some.”

Of course, he did. Alfred thought of every contingency plan. Ashika smiled, shaking her head as she found a meter that was empty, paid it, then helped Bruce out of the car. They took a bench that was surprisingly open and clear of pigeon droppings, then settled in heavily, side by side. Bruce held up the bag of pre-shredded bread and they started feeding the hoard of birds.

If Ashika had to describe the day, she would have tried not to use words like perfect. Or magical. Or special. But it ultimately would have been the words she’d want to use. Spending time with Bruce like this was something she was going to have to stash away and treasure for later. It would have to be enough.

“Do you ever wonder what they are thinking about?”

“The pigeons?” Bruce asked.

“Yes.”

Bruce tossed a handful then shrugged, “Not really. They think about where their next meal comes from but they are primarily instinctual creatures. Smart to some degree, else they wouldn’t have been used during the world wars for passing messages but—” he glanced at Ashika, then quickly looked away, “but you didn’t want a history lesson and I’m giving one. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like how your mind works.”

He snorted, “It’s a far cry from what it used to be.”

She turned on the bench, facing him better. “I like you now. As you are.”

Maybe it was the way Bruce looked up at her, his brows furrowed, his eyes such a light shade of gray they could have been the first winter snow on a field. Or maybe it was that he looked good. He smelled good. He was good—in every way Ashika was attracted to.

She could call it temporary insanity. She could call it stupidity. It was a little bit of both. Though the truth was, she _wanted_ to kiss him. She’d wanted to for a long time and the pull of it was impossible to deny.

But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. One moment she was looking into his eyes, trying to convey a message of how important he was. How loved he was—just as he was—no altering—no improvements—then she was leaning in, kissing him.

For the first blistering seconds, Bruce didn’t respond. He held perfectly still, a statue. And Ashika felt raw panic claw up her throat right beside regret. She started to draw back, felt the nakedness of what she’d done rush through her chest and threaten to squeeze her heart to bursting.

Then Bruce was grabbing her roughly, his fingers digging into her upper arms, his lips moving against hers like he was starving. Like he was dying of thirst and she was the water.

Any semblance of reality, or thought or anything really, vanished.

She got lost in the kiss.

Ashika’s hands were in his hair, tugging on the dark pieces, trying to get closer. To what, she didn’t know. She could hardly even remember they were on a park bench in front of prying eyes. Bruce was like molten steel against her. His kisses skilled but sharpened by the edge of sloppy desire and aching want. His lips warm velvet. His skin, feverish to the touch.

It was—overwhelming. Assaulting on so many levels. So many good and delicious and—

God.

She needed to—she needed to stop. They couldn’t be doing this. She’d ruined everything.

It took more willpower than she had. More than she thought she could muster with her brains leaking out of her ears and her muscles gone to melted wax. When she finally managed to break away, Ashika was breathing hard. Confusion and fear were a fetid ugly thing quickly replacing the intense feeling of joy she’d experienced kissing Bruce.

“Ashika,” Bruce sounded hoarse. It was absolutely thrilling to know she’d done that to him. And shaming. Because she’d sworn this wouldn’t happen.

And yet, she’d initiated that kiss. She’d pushed this.

Bruce was staring at her, face flushed, and hair mussed badly. There were a thousand questions in his eyes. Worries and fears, just like her own. But also, a burning hope that made her ache because all of the sudden she didn’t know if she knew what was right anymore. She didn’t know if she knew what she was supposed to do.

He couldn’t have looked more beautiful.

“Don’t,” he rasped, leaning into press his forehead to hers, connecting them again in a way that plucked at her heartstrings. Ashika all but melted into the contact as the sting of tears burned her eyes. “Please don’t say anything.”

“Bruce, you know—”

“No,” he shook his head, biting his lip, “Please don’t. This was the best day I’ve had in so long. Don’t ruin it,” he breathed out a sigh, “Not yet.”

She could have ignored him. She could have explained all the reasons why what she did was unconscionable. Unprofessional. She should be fired at once, or at the very least, quit. Ashika could say that she wasn’t sure about what she wanted anymore but that he made her happy, even though that would never be enough. She could say that her family would never approve of a relationship with a man who wasn’t Indian or that she hadn’t planned on getting into any relationship because she liked her job and didn’t want to have to share that.

None of those things would stand up to the column of what that one kiss had made her feel. How her insides were still buzzing from it, frantic little whispers of _what could be._

He wouldn’t have listened anyways in that moment. Bruce would have just grown angry with her. Hurt even. Ashika had never wanted anything less.  

“Alright. Till later.”

She could only pray waiting would give her more clarity on what to do.   


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we may be nearing the end of this story. Maybe two or three more chapters?? I'm not exactly certain, but I wanted to give ya'll a heads up. Thank you for all the love!

            Ashika didn’t come into work the next day. She called out sick.

            She called out sick every day for a week.

            Bruce resisted the urge to call her. Forced himself not to text or to obsess. But he still dreamt about her. He still went over every detail of their day together and the kiss that followed. When he was alone at night, he ran his fingers over his lips and remembered viscerally how her mouth fit to his. What she tasted like. What her body felt like pressed into his. The desperate tinge of want curling between them floridly.

            He would never forget it.

            He didn’t think he’d wanted a woman more in his life. And not simply for her body, though that was a strong consideration, but for who she was. What she made him feel. Ashika looked past all the wounds he’d sustained. No, that wasn’t it exactly. She looked through it. Was able to see what had become of him, without it affecting what he was at present. Ashika had never known him before. And there was something decidedly—relieving about that. She’d never seen any of the gloss or the glam of Bruce Wayne in his prime.

            She only knew him. At his base, in his lowest, in his worst. That was freeing.   

            There was a part of Bruce that was OK with only the memory of that kiss. That could probably survive for some time with it alone to warm him at night.

            But there was a far larger part of himself that demanded more. A greedy little voice in the back of his mind that screamed, _MORE!_ And it grew louder everyday Ashika did not return. It burned and festered and worried in his middle. It made him feel like he couldn’t breathe and wouldn’t again until Ashika walked back through his door. When he'd kissed her, when he'd felt something in his chest click into place, like a missing piece he'd not known existed--he'd known. He'd become intimately aware of how much he was already in love with her. How much of his feelings were irreversible. And it had changed everything for him.

            Waiting a week felt like waiting a year. Bruce had never felt more on edge in his life.  

            On Monday, when she was to return, Bruce waited for her in the study. Given all the time on his hands over the last week, he’d had plenty of time to think. And had come to the rough conclusion that he simply couldn’t go back. He couldn’t pretend that the kiss didn’t happen. Or that he wasn't hopelessly in love with Ashika. Nor, did he particularly want to. And he was prepared to fight for Ashika, however that might look.

            When Ashika came into the study, looking bright as a daisy in floral scrubs and wary as hell, Bruce’s resolve only firmed. He couldn’t go back. He just—couldn’t.

            Come what may.

            “Hello,” he offered politely, seated in the loveseat with his legs propped up on the coffee table.

            Ashika smiled back pleasantly enough but kept her distance. She remained across the room, hands folded in front of her as if to prevent them from fidgeting. The space between them could have been a mile and it made the ache beneath Bruce’s breastbone blossom.

            “Good morning. I’m sorry I left you for so long.”

            Bruce shook his head, forcing his voice to remain light, “I understood. I hope you are feeling better.”

            She nodded, took a step nearer, “I am.”

            Bruce pursed his lips, put the book he’d been only vaguely reading down then sighed. This conversation was going about as well as he thought it might. “We need to talk.”

            “Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”

            He lifted a brow, surprised she was willing. “Good. Would you like to sit?”

            “No,” she shook her head, “I think standing might feel better.”

            “OK,” Bruce could already tell he was going to head straight for a brick wall. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It needed to be said. If nothing else, he needed to know that he’d tried. That he’d given it every chance he could. “I want to talk about the kiss.”

            “That’s fair.”

            Mocha eyes held him captive, made it hard to swallow and then speak again, “I enjoyed it.”

            She blinked at him, her face an elegantly open book. “I see.”

            “And I would like to repeat it.”

            Ashika sucked in a careful breath, started to pace, then stopped, “Bruce—you must understand—we can’t do that again. It should not have happened.”

            “But it did.”

            “I know. And it was—it was nice,” her mouth tipped up, a flash of a smile that made Bruce’s stomach clench, “But it cannot happen again.”

            Even knowing that was where it was headed, it still stung. It still made panic flare wide and unforgiving in his middle because she had no idea how much he cared about her. That is wasn't just a passing whimsy or something physical. It was a deep-seated, soul-sucking,  _need_ , clawing at his insides. He needed her. He loved her.

            “Why?”

            “There are many reasons.”

            “Tell me.”

            She swallowed, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “I’m not a fragile flower Ashika. I’d rather have all the details than be left in the dark.”

            “Alright,” she smoothed both hands down her front nervously, “I am your nurse. You are my patient.”

            He nodded, “That won’t be forever.”

            “But it is, what is now.”

            “What else?”

            Ashika shook her head, exasperation marking her eyes cinnamon, “I am Indian. You are not.”

            Bruce lifted a brow, “I never pegged you for a traditionalist.”

            “My family would never accept you. They may never speak to me again if I were to get involved with you. And you cannot tell me that whatever we would pursue would not be something serious. Because that would be a lie.”

            “You’re right, whatever we might pursue would be serious. But I wouldn’t be bothered by your family not liking me,” he chewed the inside of his cheek, resisted the urge to start twitching, “However, I can see where it would be a problem for you. What else?”

            Ashika’s eyes held something pleading and dark in their depths, “Is that not enough?”

            “No. What else?”

            “I am—I am a busy woman. I work long hours. You would not see me often.”

            He nodded, “Contrary to what you’ve seen of me thus far, I’m usually working the majority of the time. That doesn’t worry me.”

            “I’m a selfish person.”

            Bruce stared at her, saw that she was serious, then laughed. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

            “I like my time. I like my quiet. I don’t like change.”

            “That makes two of us. We could be quiet together.”

            “That’s hardly how that works, Bruce.”

            “Ashika,” Bruce sat up straighter and wished more than anything for a moment that he could just stand up and walk over to her. It was only a passing upset that not that long ago he could have. He could have strode across the room and taken her into his arms with ease and suave. He could have gathered her close, chest to chest, and kissed her again without the use of the walker. In reality, he’d need it to get across the study and he’d need it to stay balanced. It might ruin the moment. “I’m willing to do just about anything to be with you.”

            If it were possible to suck all the air out of a room from shock alone...

            “Bruce—” she swallowed again, voice sounding tight with pain, “We can’t just—”

            “We could.”

            “It would be impossibly difficult.”

            “I like a challenge.” They stared at one another, Bruce shifted on the sofa then finally sighed, “Just, give it some more thought. Think about it. We could try. That's all I'm asking.”

            “My replacement will be here in a week.”

            Bruce blinked at her, felt the first strains of panic flex in his stomach then nodded, “Then you’ve got a week to decide what you’re going to do. What you’re willing to risk.”

           

 

            Ashika spent the better part of the day doing her best not to think at all. Which was a bit foolish because, for all intents and purposes, she was still Bruce’s nurse. And she had work to do.

            Bruce needed her help.

            And so, she gave it.

            If they lingered over touching, and brushed cheeks when she was helping him sit or stand or dabbled with fire as they stared at each other with long looks—there was nothing to be done about it. Ashika had kissed the man not a week previous.

            She knew what his lips felt like. What his mouth could do if given half a chance and that was something she was never going to forget. Regardless of what happened between them.

            And it wasn’t as if Ashika was inexperienced with men. Because she wasn’t. But she wasn’t well-versed either. She’d had a handful of dates, nothing serious, with a few Indian suitors her parents had picked. When she’d told them she wasn’t interested in their picks, over and over, they’d finally given up on the suitors and resigned themselves to a daughter who was more interested in her career than that of becoming a wife or mother.

            The quietly condemning looks and less than subtle remarks about growing too old to have children faded away. And Ashika had been grateful for it. Because it wasn't that she had given up on the idea of having a family of her own. Or that she didn’t want one. No, that wasn’t entirely the truth. Because she did want one. Just not like her parents envisioned one for her.

            She was in her late thirties and had long ago decided she was better suited for furry children rather than that of the human variety. Her imaginings of a husband had also dissipated over the years. How could it not? Her life had become her work. And until Bruce—that hadn’t bothered her. Not in the least. Until him—she’d not wondered if there could be more. Or perhaps, both a career and a family.

            Now, everything was shifting on its axis and tearing the proverbial rug out from underneath her feet. And it was an incredibly dizzying sensation. Like being thrown into a washing machine and put on the spin cycle.

            Ashika was not certain of anything.

            A week away from Bruce, spent drowning herself in ice cream and self-loathing had brought her no closer to any answers. If anything, it had made everything worse.

            It had made her miss Bruce. It had brought the ache of being away from him to a fever-pitch until she’d been a little frightened at how badly her hands were shaking when she’d stood across from him in the study. It had made her realize that she wasn’t just falling in love with him—she was already in love. And it had been happening for a long time.   

            “Ashika?”

            She blinked, brought out of her thoughts abruptly by the sound of Bruce’s voice. “Yes?”

            He was seated at his desk, struggling his way through some work correspondence he’d said needed doing. Timothy had sent over a batch of things to sign, OK, and/or veto. Bruce had apparently been putting it off and had waited to the last minute.

            “I’m having trouble with—” Bruce sighed, tugging his readers off his nose to rub his eyes, “Could you help me type this email? The screen is blurring I’ve been at this so long.”

            “Of course,” she stood, moved over to the desk. A second chair was already nearby and she simply tugged it closer before pulling the laptop over. A few inches separated Bruce’s arm from her own and she was acutely aware of it. “What would you like to say?”

            Bruce settled back in his own chair and thought for a moment, his eyes closing.

            “I left off with that bit about micro-dermal skin grafting implants, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “Alright, say, ‘That while the cost of the implants doesn’t appear to be as high as first expected, the overall cost of long-term production looks prohibitive.’ Or something like that. Make me sound good.”

            She laughed, shaking her head, then started typing.

            Ashika spent the better part of an hour going back and forth with Bruce. Tweaking the email till he smiled and nodded for her to send it. When it was done, he asked for her help in sorting which business documents Timothy wanted signed first. The work kept her thoughts busy. It made it easier to function despite Bruce’s proximity and Ashika was glad for it.

            By the time lunch rolled around, Ashika and Bruce had completed everything on his desk and had worked up an appetite. Alfred served tomato bisque and sandwiches, which Bruce ate quietly, and Ashika silently regarded him with her heart in her throat.

            It would be so easy to imagine living here with him. To see herself never leaving, because she was already home. She’d spent her days out of the house, of course, working, helping another patient in need, then her evenings would be something like this. Quiet and thoughtful. Ashika and Bruce would watch the news in bed, cuddled close, her cat purring on their feet. They’d make love after Bruce flicked off the lights. It would be a simple life. One that would bring joy, of that she was certain.

            It wouldn’t always be soft or quiet. But it would be—peaceful. They were compatible in more ways than not. At least when it came to their personalities.

            But everything else, her family in particular, Ashika found herself feeling a little terrified at the idea of telling them. _If_ she was ever willing to pursue what they had.

            “I’m a little tired,” Bruce mused, sounding more than a little tired. He sounded outright exhausted as he pushed to a stand and leaned heavily into his walker, “Do you mind if I take a nap?”

            “Of course not,” Ashika frowned at him, “you don’t need to ask my permission, Bruce.”

            He tipped his head, “No. But it’s polite anyways.”

            “Do you need help to your room?”

            “If you wouldn’t mind.”

            She didn’t.

            Even though Ashika knew he didn’t really need a chaperone to get to his room. Not anymore. Bruce could meander the halls all on his own, albeit slowly. He was getting more independent by the day. He may never walk quickly, or even without a walker, but he could take care of a great deal, by himself. The days of Ashika bathing, changing, and feeding him were long in the past.

            There was something oddly bittersweet about that reality. It meant he wouldn’t be needing a personal nurse for much longer. A victory worth celebrating.

            When they reached Bruce’s bedroom, Ashika kept close. Closer than she needed to be. She braced him when he got on the mattress and had to grunt with the effort to get up. She lingered for far too long at the edge, fingers dancing over his shoulder, desperate to remain though it would only make things more hazy between them. More complicated.

            But wasn’t it already beyond all that?

            She’d kissed him. She’d already crossed the barrier of what was improper. And there was no going back from all that. Worse, she was becoming less and less sure that she even wanted to.

            “Do you want the drapes closed?”

            Bruce blinked glassily at her, then nodded. Ashika did the task slowly, drawing out her time with Bruce for as long as possible. When she returned to the mattress, simply because she was drawn to him like a magnet, it was no surprise that Bruce grabbed her hand. Or that his thumb traced the back of it with blatant fondness. Meant to soothe and ground but also simply for the sole pleasure of touching.

            “You could stay.”

            “What?” she stiffened, almost tore her hand away. But Bruce had a good grip on her and he held fast, his face impossible to read in the murky lighting. With the drapes drawn, everything felt a little less real. A little more dream-like.

            “You could lie down next to me. Just—just to sleep. We could just lie next to each other.”

            “Bruce—”

            “Please, I won’t do anything. It would just be—It would be nice.”

            She couldn’t deny that. It would be. But it would also complicate things further. It would take them deeper down the path she wasn’t ready to take.

            But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from moving either. Ashika moved to the opposite side of the bed and climbed onto the mattress. Bruce held perfectly still until she laid down beside him with a careful hand-span of distance between them. Then he reached out and wound their hands back together and she sighed. With relief? Yes, a little. But also something far more dangerous and disabling.

            Longing.

            She wanted to roll closer. To press her side to his and share body heat. To trace his jaw, feel his whiskers under her fingertips. Smell the aftershave in the hollow of his throat.

            “You could—” Bruce’s voice sounded thin, shaky, “you could scoot closer.”

            “I don’t know if it’s that’s a good idea.”

            “We wouldn’t have to do anything. Just—just be closer.”

            Ashika could not have denied Bruce or herself if she’d tried. What were a few inches? A little more?

            When she was flush to Bruce’s side, hands still bound, her heart had made a leap for her throat and was a frightened pulse in her ears. She let her temple rest on the meat of his shoulder, let her eyes close and forced her breathing to settle. It took long minutes and careful work, but she managed. And after a while, it became easy to let the muscles in her body go lax and to feel sleep tugging on her eyelids.

            “Bruce?”

            “Mmm?” he sounded close to slipping off. He sounded warm and good and safe.

            She swallowed thickly, took in a shuttering breath then shook her head. “Never mind.”

 

 

            Ashika napped with Bruce for four days in a row. By the fourth day, the rhythm between them had changed so drastically but so smoothly, it was startling. She moved around Bruce, with him. When she helped him shave and she lingered, tracing the lines of his face, taking far too much liberty with extra unneeded touches, it was natural. Expected even.

            When Bruce took her hand beneath the table or when they were alone, she ached. But in a way that said it was right. It was good.

            It was needed.

            There were countless moments added in their interactions—seamless flickers of intimacy that were suddenly in the spotlight and so, so welcome. So good, it was difficult to imagine ever having not had the opportunity to touch Bruce the way she did. When Bruce looked at her, there was no denying the feelings he was broadcasting, loud and clear. And Ashika was unable to deny them herself.

            She was beginning to wonder if from the moment she’d walked into Wayne manor those many months ago, that her being with Bruce was an inevitability. Were some people simply meant for one another? Was there such a thing as predestination when it came to soul-bonds?

            She didn’t know. But it felt like it. It felt like Ashika was fighting her very genetics by fighting what was happening to her and Bruce. And she was very, very close to simply giving in.

            They hadn’t kissed again. But Ashika could feel the desire to do so like a siren swimming in her veins and on Friday morning, on the way to the orthopedic surgeon for a consult, Ashika very nearly did. Bruce was wearing one of his new pairs of jeans and a cotton t-shirt. He looked like he was on his way to a baseball game, wearing that cap tugged down over his eyes so they could get in and out of the hospital without as much notice. And when she’d leaned over him to help with the seatbelt, because his hands were shaking too badly and he was getting a little crabby about it, their cheeks brushed. Heat, searing and wanton had flared in her middle.

            It would have been a simple matter to turn her head and press her mouth to his. To erase his foul mood and give him a distraction. But she’d held off. Because that wouldn't be fair. Not until she was sure. Without a doubt, sure.

            “He wants to do surgery.”

            Ashika pulled into a space in the parking garage, as close to the elevators as possible, then turned to look at Bruce. He was glaring out the windshield at the yellow wash of light, his mouth firmly in a grimace. She understood why. Another surgery was hardly preferable but if it meant getting better rotation in his shoulder, then it could mean a greater degree of mobility. More activities. More freedom. And ultimately, that was something Bruce would want. In the end anyways.

            “If that’s what needs to happen, then so be it. You're strong enough.”

            Bruce cast her a sidelong look, his hands clenching in his lap. Ashika reached without thinking to cover one of his fists with a hand for comfort. “I hate doctors.”

            She laughed, “Of course you do. You’ve seen nothing but medical personnel for over a year.”

            “You won’t be with me.”

            She blinked at him, “What?”

            Bruce’s jaw flexed, and he looked away, “You won’t be with me for the surgery. Or the recovery. Or the therapy. None of it. You’ll be gone.”

            “I—”

            He looked up and what she saw in his eyes made Ashika feel ill. Made the sting in her eyes painful. “Mandy comes on Monday. The agency said she’ll only need a couple days of training. My care isn’t as complex anymore.”

            “Bruce—I—”

            “You won’t be here anymore.”

            Ashika opened her mouth to deny it or make an excuse but nothing came out and she was left staring at the desolate parking garage with a lump in her throat.

            “We should go inside. We’ll be late.”

            They managed to be on time. Bruce didn’t lose his temper during the appointment and Ashika was proud of him for asking questions calmly, for bringing up points that she’d not thought of, and for agreeing to the surgery. They set the date for a month out and left the office silently.

            The drive back to the manor was equally devoid of conversation and Bruce didn’t try to fill it. Alfred was already setting the table for dinner when they returned but Ashika wasn’t hungry. And besides, it was almost at the end of her shift. One of her last. Bruce was right about Mandy coming in on Monday. She had precious little hours left.

            “I think I’ll leave a few minutes early,” she tried to sound nonchalant. To sound unaffected. It didn’t work.

            Bruce blinked up at her once he’d taken his seat at the table, then frowned, “You’re not hungry?”

            “I’ve got work to do at home. And I’ll be back in the morning.”

            Bruce looked down at his plate, at the shine of the silverware Alfred had carefully laid out and visibly gritted his teeth. “OK. I understand.”

            “We could go on a drive tomorrow.”

            He nodded, once, sharply, “Sure.”

            “Or—”

            Bruce couldn’t look at her. Maybe wouldn’t. Ashika’s hands were trembling and she felt viscerally ill. Why couldn’t she just give him what they both wanted? Why was this such a difficult decision? It shouldn’t have been. It was ridiculous that it was. Her family didn't matter as much as what she could have with Bruce. But she was scared. 

              _Of what?_ _Being happy? Being loved?_

            “Whatever you’d like to do Ashika, I’m fine with.”

            “Alright.”

            He nodded again, still looking at the table and not her. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

            The dismal was clear and painful. Deserved.

            “Goodnight.”

            Ashika left the manor, drove home to her empty apartment where her cat waited patiently for his supper. She didn’t eat her own meal, nor did she fall asleep easily. She laid in bed and imagined Bruce’s warmth at her side till she was blurry with exhaustion and couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

            Then she got a call at four in the morning and was torn roughly out of the dregs of sleep into a slightly panicked stupor. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she rasped at her phone, barely recognizing Alfred’s contact information before picking up.

            _“I’m afraid Master Bruce took a fall.”_

            “What?” she was already tossing back the comforter and dashing for her closet, “How badly is he injured? Is he alright?”

            _“They’ve just taken him by ambulance. But he was cursing and yelling, so I imagine he’ll be fine. But there was quite a lot of blood.”_

            “Blood?” Ashika’s heart quite literally stopped in her chest and she couldn’t breathe.

            _“He hit his head. I can’t say how badly. Would you meet us at the hospital? He’ll do better with you there. He’s in quite a state.”_

            “Of course, I’ll be right there.”

            Ashika drove broke the speed limit and ran two stoplights on her way. She’d never broken the law before. And she’d never cared so little about doing so.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--I've been seriously struggling with how I wanted the last two chapters to go. It's taken me FOREVER and some re-writes, but I'm finally happy with it. I hope ya'll are too! Hugs!
> 
> Also, please forgive my fat fingers and their mistakes. And my brain. It is tired and has surely missed mistakes as well.

            When Bruce woke up to the sound of a steadily beeping machine and antiseptic filling his nose, he panicked.

            Terror hit, and it hit fucking hard.

            Bruce immediately sucked in a panicked breath, hands clamping down on the arm rails of the hospital bed, eyes blindly searching madly around the room. His first instinct was to run. It was to strike out, so he could flee.

            But he couldn’t make his limbs work properly and despite his mind whirring away at five hundred miles an hour, it took him a terribly long time to figure out why.

            Or to realize that the familiarity of the walls surrounding him meant he was in the hospital. The antiseptic and scent of sterilized plastic meant he was being treated for something medical. He had no reason to be afraid. He had no reason to panic.

            _He had every reason._

Hospitals meant pain. They meant long blurring hours and weary droning doctors. They meant needle pokes, medications, surgeries, and recovery rooms. Being drugged, slurring words, and having his mind fogged until he couldn’t even remember who he was.

            And God, he knew, he fucking knew it was irrational. He knew, deep in the places that often made him the most logical, the most clinical person in the room—he knew that he was safe.

            That he shouldn’t be afraid. Or upset. Or anything.

            Because hospitals and everything they entailed should not equate fear. They should mean life.

            _They did not._

            There was nothing he could do to stop the irrational waves of unease clawing up his throat, threatening to choke him. Every muscle in his body was stiff with fear, his jaw so tight, he could hear his teeth grinding like shards of glass grating against each other.    

            “Bruce—Bruce calm down. You’re safe. It’s alright.”

            He blinked rapidly, eyes so gritty it hurt and blurred the white-washed room. His head swam and for a moment, he thought he saw a familiar face. Warm brown eyes and soft caramel skin. But that wasn’t possible. Because Ashika would never be here—not here, beside him in the hospital.

            Bruce swallowed, reached blindly for something, anything, and found a hand grabbing onto his. A few more blinks, through those goddamn watering eyes, he realized Ashika _really_ was there. And it was the strangest sensation to realize how very close to tears that made him, how it made him hurt from crown to heel, in a way that had nothing to do with any real physical discomfort.

            His chest felt like an open weeping wound. Gaping and raw. He didn’t want her to be here—not when she wasn’t going to stay. Not really.

            It would make this harder.

            She was—sitting at his side, wearing ordinary clothes. Soft sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt, he’d never had the privilege of seeing her in before. It suited her, to look comfortable and soft, like that. It looked even better on her than the scrubs did. She looked achingly good and normal.

            And not real. Not in the least.

            Because Ashika couldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be with him, holding his hand, knowing that it would send all the wrong messages. And she was so careful. She’d been honest and open about how she didn’t want what had been happening between them.

            So, she wouldn’t be here, looking at him like that. Like her heart was in her eyes.

            Not like this. Not with her hair loose for the first time he’d ever seen it and draped long like a silk curtain over her shoulders. Not with those depthless eyes that narrowed and worried at him. Not with her hand in his, clearly not worried about being caught showing affection towards a patient.

            “Bruce—you hit your head. You have a concussion. But you are alright. You will be fine.”

            “I—what?” he didn’t remember. And there was something far more terrifying about that realization, then the notion that he was _yet again_ , sitting in a hospital bed.

Something that made him grasp at Ashika’s hand tighter and blink faster to try and see the room better.

When he did, the walls came into focus in hazy purple. There was a generic picture of a pansy on one wall and a daffodil on another. A machine beeped quickly to his right, indicating how fast his pulse was racing and there was an IV pole setup with tubing taped to his elbow and hand.

            He didn’t remember any of it.

            But he’d been here before. Maybe not this room, maybe not this hospital even, but he’d been here. He’d sat in a hospital bed too many times in the last couple of years, wearing tubing, stitches, and bruises not to feel the distinct and immediate wash of fear that came with it.

            “You fell,” Ashika leaned closer, eyes softening, “You fell outside your bathtub and hit your head. You’ve gotten twenty-three stitches right above your right temple. You were only out for a few moments, according to Alfred. But it was long enough. They want to keep you here for observation. But you are fine. You will be fine.”

            Bruce vaguely remembered wanting to get a shower. He vaguely remembered going to the bathroom, turning the tap on, struggling his way through undressing—then nothing. There was only a big fat blank.

            To go along with all the other Swiss cheese holes in his brain.

            It shouldn’t be so upsetting. It was only minutes missing. Nothing more. But it was. And it made his throat want to close and his eyes burn for other reasons than trying to adjust to the lighting.

            “You will be going home in less than twenty-four hours Bruce.”

            Ashika was reading his discomfort and thoughts too easily.

            “You—” he swallowed thickly, struggling immensely to control the uncontrollable wavering in his emotions, “You’re sure? I can go home?”

            He hated how vulnerable that sounded. He hated that there was a flare of neediness beneath the tone that implied he wasn’t alright. That he was shaken and frightened—even if that was all true. Hospitals were meant to be places of healing and help. They were not supposed to instigate trauma like PTSD, but that was exactly what was happening, and Bruce resented the hell out of it. Worse, he resented that with his limited ability to process strong emotions now, he was having a difficult time hiding how badly he was doing. Particularly in front of Ashika, whom he didn’t want seeing him like this.

            Again.

            So many times, she’d seen him lose control. So many times, she’d stood at his side, coaxing him through the worst of it. And soon, far too soon, she would leave.

            And he’d be left to pick up the pieces.

            “You’re—” he forced his gaze to Ashika and felt his stomach lurch. She was so beautiful. So human looking in those sweats with her hair loose. Bruce wished it were real. “You’re here.”

            “Yes. Alfred called me. I came as soon as I could. I’m so sorry you were hurt.”

            “Why?” Bruce swallowed dryly, “Why are you here?”

            Ashika’s brow crinkled and Bruce immediately felt as if he’d said the wrong thing. “Because despite everything you might think about me Bruce, I care a deal for you.”

            “You care for me.”

            The words were—careful. Generic. Painful.

            Bruce blinked away from Ashika and down at his lap. It was better than looking rejection directly in the face. Better than feeling the sharp sting of it lance in his middle and down his useless fucking legs.

            “Bruce, please look at me.”

            “Why?”

            It was childish. He knew it. He didn’t care.

            “Please. I need to see you when I say this. I need to—I need to say this.”

            _God. Not now. He couldn’t do this now._

“No,” the word was a whisper and just as desperate sounding as he felt, “I get another day. I get tomorrow. You can’t—you can’t end it yet.”

            “Bruce—”

            “Don’t you fucking take that from me!” he rasped, voice too weak to have the fire he wanted it to have. Ashika still jolted in the chair, the legs squeaking on tile. Bruce held himself rigidly still, then carefully, painfully, removed his hand from hers.

            “Thank you for coming,” he whispered, “Please leave.”

            “Bruce, you don’t know what I was going to say, and it is not fair that you’ve decided for me.”   

            “I can’t do this right now,” Bruce closed his eyes, “Please leave. I’ll—I’ll talk to you tomorrow. We have tomorrow.”

            _Please. God. Just let him have the one more day._

“Fine.” Ashika’s voice was deceptively soft and Bruce couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the pity. “I will see you tomorrow. When they release you, I’ll be there to take you home.”

            Bruce nodded, looked away to the window, praying she saw it as the dismal it was. He heard sneakers on tile, swishing fabric, and then she was gone. He wished she hadn’t left the scent of lilies behind or the phantom warmth of her hand in his.

            But it remained long after she left.

 

 

 

            Ashika kept her promise.

            She came to the hospital with Dick and Jason in tow, carrying balloons like a pack of cackling idiots. Only Ashika managed not to laugh at the look he offered when they showed up with their ‘gifts’. He’d never liked getting balloons when he was in the hospital. Now, was no different.

            It made him feel a little senile.

            Or juvenile.

            Either way, he didn’t care for it.

            Already in a sour mood, considering he was only hours away from having Ashika walk out his door forever, he wasn’t particularly chatty on the car ride home. Ashika and Jason talked mildly about his work. Dick added in a commentary, occasionally shooting him worried glances that made Bruce tense and lean further into the car door.

            He didn’t want to be here. Trapped in a car with Ashika and the boys.

            It was a little—like suffocating.

            They got back to the manor where Alfred had prepared a light lunch and everyone sat dutifully to eat it. Lunch was as forcefully polite as the car ride had been. Bruce ate his soup mechanically, putting food into his mouth without tasting any of it. His head was beginning to throb in tandem with the boy’s laughter and despite not particularly wanting to miss any of his last minutes with Ashika, he felt incredibly tired.

            If Bruce didn’t lie down for a rest, he would very likely fall asleep sitting.

            As if sensing this, Ashika rose, cleared plates and then silently moved to his side. “I’ll help you up to your room.”

            “I don’t need help.”

            The answer was automatic. And harsh. Both boys blinked up from their conversation and stared openly at them.

            “Come on B, let Ashika take you up. She’s only doing her job. Besides, you hit your head really hard. What if you get woozy?” Dick smiled thinly, eyes darting between Bruce and Ashika. “You don’t want to end up right back in the hospital, do you?”

            “Of course not,” Bruce snapped, and immediately regretted he received frowns for his trouble. He didn’t need them worried about him right now. It would only make matters worse.

            “Ready?” Ashika murmured, and Bruce forced himself to nod.

            They took the hallway slowly. Bruce felt weak and uncoordinated. Frustratingly so and it was a trial in patience to make it to the elevator. At the correct floor, they walked even slower to his bedroom and once inside the familiar walls, he felt tension bunch the muscles of his shoulders into knots.

            His stomach clenched when he looked at his bed, already turned down at the corner, looking inviting and warm.

            Ashika wouldn’t likely stay and nap with him.

            That would be too far.

            But when he climbed into bed, tugging blankets up his hips, fighting a shiver that rushed his frame, Bruce realized he was perilously close to begging. And that made him even angrier. With himself. With Ashika. With their situation. With his fucking worthless body.

            “Bruce—”

            It took Bruce a long few seconds to realize that Ashika had moved and was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at him. Her hair was pulled back up in the familiar twists of a bun. Her cheekbones looked elegant in the shadows.

            He didn’t remember her closing the drapes.

            He’d been too lost in his thoughts. Lost in his mind.

            A dangerous place to be.

            “What?” his answering voice came out in a croak and he had to clear his throat to make himself sound less affected, “What is it?”

            “I need to say something. I need you to hear it. I tried yesterday, but you wouldn’t let me. But I need to say it.”

            “What if I don’t want to hear it, Ashika?” Bruce said quietly.

            “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

            “How don’t I? You’ve made it clear since the beginning and like a fool—like a fucking idiot—I couldn’t seem to stop myself. And it—it makes sense—when I think about it. It makes sense why you don’t—why you can’t want me. Maybe I’m a passing interest. Maybe I’m attractive enough to look past some of the flaws—but all of them? My body—” Bruce’s throat wanted to close in on itself and he fought it savagely, “My body is a mess. It will always be. My mind—isn’t much better. You know that better than anyone. So, it makes sense. I understand.”

            When Bruce let himself look back up at Ashika, let himself really look at her, like he hadn’t since the day before, he could see she was angry. He’d not seen the emotion often over the last year, because she was careful. She was patient. Far too understanding. But the emotion was there. Clear and cutting.

            “You’re a fool.”

            Bruce snorted, “I’m well aware.”

            “Stop, just stop Bruce!” Bruce blinked as Ashika reached down and physically shook him. Her hands were like heated steel on his skin and it made him want to curl nearer, to beg for more. _Please, more. Just another moment._

            “How could you say such terrible things about yourself? How could you think for one moment, that my indecision about us, had anything to do with your injuries?”

            “Because—because it makes sense, Ashika. I’m not the man I used to be.”

            “You’re better. I like this man. I—I’ve made this hard for us. I understand that. I know that I made it harder than it should have been. But God Bruce, did you really think that any of those things mattered to me? Did you really think, for even a moment, that I was saying no to you because of what’s happened to you?”

            “I—” Bruce swallowed thickly, looked away, “Yes. Yes, I thought it had something to do with it. And I can’t blame you.”

            “Stop,” she shook him again, hands staying this time, digging into the meat of his shoulders, making the breath back up in his lungs.

            He closed his eyes to block out the sound of her breathing, to not see her face, contorted in anger and pain. But maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have kept watching because Ashika was suddenly pressing her forehead to his, enveloping him in her warmth and the smell of lilies and he couldn’t breathe.

            God, he couldn’t get in a good breath and he didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know where to put his shaking hands, that desperately wanted to reach down and pin her tighter, squeeze her closer. But their foreheads were touching, and he could feel her breath, soft and feather-like on his mouth, and he—he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to taste her. To forget and never remember who he was or why he couldn’t have this.

            “You are a fool,” she whispered, lips brushing his. His heart was skipping about in his chest so fast, ramming into his ribs, that it hurt.

            “You said that.” Was that really his voice? Breathless and wrecked?

            “I’ll probably say it again. I’ll push you, Bruce. I’ll hurt you again. I’ll fight with you. I’ll hog the bed and become irrational. I’ll do things you don't like. I’m not perfect. I fail. I screw up. I—take far too long in telling the man that I love, that I am in fact, in love with him.”

            Bruce stopped breathing. Or maybe his heart stopped.

            Either way, he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed.

            Ashika brushed her mouth over his again, still so close, eyes closed and lashes tickling his cheeks.

            “Say something, Bruce.”

            He couldn’t. Speech hadn’t come back yet. He was still just trying to draw in a breath.

            “Bruce,” Ashika’s eyes fluttered open and they were wet with tears, “I just told you I loved you.”

            “I—” he strangled out, “I heard.”

            Ashika blinked, one tear tracking down her cheek, eyes flickering over his face, his neck, his chest. “You—you don’t love me back.”

            He sucked in a breath, “Yes. No. I mean—” Bruce felt his cheeks flame and his entire head wanting to explode. “I love you too. That’s what I mean. I’ve been in love with you for a while. I just—you love me?”

            There was a barely a pause. Not even a flicker of doubt on her face.

            “Yes,” her eyes smiled first, crinkling at the corners, the brown softening to mocha and richer than any color he’d ever seen. He reached up weakly to cup her cheek, to rub a thumb over the bone and swipe the tear away.

            The ache of all these months, of the last month, was still sharp. Still edging on brutal. But she loved him.

            Ashika loved him.  

            “Please don’t leave.” He'd not meant to say that. It just fell out of him.

            “I can’t,” she laughed softly, leaning into his touch like a cat. And it was—almost too much. His mind didn’t want to believe that this was really happening. His body did. But his mind, felt like he was imagining it. Like this couldn’t possibly be real.

            “I won’t leave, Bruce. I’m staying.”

            “Staying?” he repeated stupidly, mouth fat and not working properly.

            “Yes,” she smiled at him, “Yes, I’m staying.”

            He was wading through mental Laffey Taffy and struggling to compute what was happening. No matter that it was good and honest and warm. No matter that it was everything he’d wanted for far too long.  

            “Forgive me, Bruce,” Ashika bent down again, this time pressing her mouth hard to his, seeking, desperate and wanting and God, he responded like she’d lit a fuse in his chest, finally breaking through the stunned fog. “Please, forgive me.”

            Bruce’s hands suddenly knew exactly what to do and were in her hair, clutching at her scrub top, jerking her onto his chest. She felt light, too light, but still solid and he tried to stifle the groan that slipped out of his mouth into hers but failed entirely when she deepened the kiss.

            She was a fire. A delicious fire that licked at his bones and he wanted to be burned. He wanted to be incinerated as long as she was the one doing it.

            _So, good. So, so good._

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered when they broke for air and he started to kiss her neck, desperate for more skin and taste. Just more. She arched into his mouth, a soft sigh singing in the quiet and Bruce reveled in it, slowed his assault to a crawl to watch her eyelashes flutter and her mouth fall slack.

            She looked so good like that. She looked—fucking perfect. Like how he’d imagined it during his darkest nights, but better. Nothing could compare to the reality of having her react like that, to him. To his touch.

            “It’s alright,” he murmured into her skin, “We’re alright.”

            She hummed in response.

            But it sounded like an affirmation. It sounded like a promise.

            Bruce took it at face value, despite the flickering insecurities that still plagued him and kissed Ashika till their lips were raw and he was so painfully aroused, he might have wept had Ashika left just then.

            She didn’t.

            They made love in the dim quiet of his bedroom. A place she’d been in, sat in, tirelessly worked in for many months. He’d cried within these four walls. He’d raged and felt outright suicidal. He’d struggled to relearn how to walk. To relearn how to talk. To use the bathroom.

            Everything.

            And the woman he had in his arms, the one whose skin felt like a dream beneath his hands, had been with him for it all. She’d stayed and brought light to his life, he’d never had before.

            Not even before the accident. Not ever.   

            He savored her sounds and her skin. He traced patterns into her back and kissed promises into her shoulders. Bruce wanted to rush, to let the frenzy of want to take him under and drown him, but he didn’t. He went slow. He drew it out and made sure that this memory would be burned into both their minds as a good one. Maybe the best.

            Damp, wrapped around each other, and impossibly high from the physical contact, they sat for nearly an hour after, just quietly drifting. Enjoying.

            “I love you,” Bruce whispered into the hazy warmth, nuzzling into Ashika’s hair. He’d pulled it loose and some point and was determined that she should never pull it back again. It felt amazing on his skin.

            “And I love you,” she whispered back, and Bruce still couldn’t quite believe it. He still couldn’t quite get his mind to relax around the idea that he could be so fortunate.

            But they had time. They had so much time, it made his chest feel light and his insides soft.

            Because Ashika wasn’t leaving.

                         

              

 

            Bruce was still asleep. Ashika could tell by the soft exhalations of his breath and the slight wheeze at the end that was terribly close to a snore. She knew all his noises to the point of it being strange.

            It didn’t feel strange now.

            His arm was a heavy weight on her naked stomach, his heat pressed up tight to her back and so welcome and grounding, she felt rooted to the bed. In such a good way.

            Bruce had made love to her, unlike any man had ever tried before.

            Ashika was no virgin, but she’d never experienced anything like what they’d shared. And he certainly hadn’t been perfect. Or even graceful. Bruce had to modify things. There were a couple pained grunts amidst a few snorted giggles when a position failed or sheets tangled on legs. But it had been—flawless. In her eyes, it was the imperfections that made being with Bruce so perfect.

            She’d seen Bruce naked before, sure. But not like that. Not with his eyes naked for her as well. Not with his mouth tipped down in worry as she touched all his scars and traced all his soft places. She’d never seen his cheeks ruddy with color or heard his voice break from passion.

            No, those new memories would be locked away in her mind. They would stay safe beside the ones where she told him she loved him. His disbelief had been—heartbreaking. His thinking she would not want him because of his physical handicaps had sent a stab of pain straight to her gut.

            She’d never meant for him to fear that. She’d never meant for that to even cross into his line of thinking.

            And perhaps, she’d waited too long.

            Ashika shifted, felt Bruce shift with her, then nuzzle closer and tears stung the backs of her eyes at his unknowing gesture. His nearness was drugging and everything she could have wanted. Everything she didn’t realize she needed until it had almost been too late.

            She’d called Bruce a fool.

            But she was the fool.

            She’d made him wait, had drawn out the fear and the denial until she was sitting beside him in the hospital, desperately hoping that he would be fine. Until she couldn’t lie to herself any longer.

            She loved Bruce. Ashika wanted desperately to be with him and would do anything to make that happen. What her family thought, didn’t matter. Her career didn’t hold a candle to the impossibly bright feelings of love and adoration she felt for him. Every excuse, every reason she’d thought of, had melted away into nothing sitting beside Bruce in that hospital.

            She couldn’t just walk away from finding someone so perfectly suited to herself. She couldn’t walk away from Bruce.

            And she’d almost told him just that, sitting at his bedside, but he’d been too upset. Too angry and fearful of her rejection. Waiting had been torture, knowing that Bruce thought they were over. But seeing the end result, Ashika could not be upset at where she was. She was with Bruce, despite the rocky path she’d forced them on to get there.

            Regrets were not something she lingered on. It simply wasn’t who she was.

            Ashika was a woman of the present.

            “Why are you awake?” Bruce’s sleep-rough voice in her ear made Ashika shiver.

            “I’m thinking.”

            He was right to question it. It was late, or so Ashika thought. They’d not seen a clock or left the bedroom in hours. It was dark outside, and the world felt like it was on break. There was an ethereal quality to the air that made Ashika smile.  

            “Nothing bad I hope.”

            “No,” she rolled, pressing her nose into Bruce’s neck, smelling his skin like an addict seeking her fix. She supposed that was an accurate description. She’d been denying herself for too long and now that she had him, she felt like a glutton. “All good.”

            “If I wasn’t half-dead already, I’d be up for more.”

            “Mmm, making up for lost time?”

            He snorted, “Do you blame me?”

            “No. It’s been considerably longer for you, then it has for me.”

            Bruce sighed, “I know I shouldn’t want to know, but I do.”

            “About who else I’ve been with?”

            He nodded, chin brushing her hair, “Yes. I want to know everything about you, Ashika. And I’ll tell you—I’ll tell you everything you don’t already know about me.”

            “I’d wager you’ve had a more colorful past than me.”

            Bruce's mouth frowned, “That’s probably a safe wager. Before you—before the accident—I didn’t do relationships.”

            “Didn’t do them?”

            “I ran from them. Connections meant inviting someone into my life and my life was complicated,” he laughed self-deprecatingly, then shrugged, “It still is. Just different. I couldn’t risk bringing someone into the fold before. I just—I couldn’t.”

            “There is more,” Ashika whispered, aware that Bruce was hinting at something large she didn’t know about him. And maybe that should frighten her, maybe it should be seriously off-putting, but it wasn’t. She appreciated what it cost him, for being willing to share even more of himself with her.

            He was still Bruce. No matter what skeletons hid in his closet. He was hers. That wouldn’t change.

            “Yes,” Bruce swallowed, “There’s more. Things I never told you about, because I couldn’t. But—I want to. I want to share everything.”

            “I want that too,” she stretched a little, nipped at his chin, “But not tonight.”

            “No” he easily agreed, “Not tonight. And maybe—maybe not for a little while longer. If you’re willing to wait.”

            “I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I’ll wait.”

            She’d wait for a century if it’s what it took. Bruce wasn’t getting rid of her that easily when she’d finally come to the decision she couldn’t live without him.

            “It’s still good to hear,” his voice had dropped again. It sounded sluggish, sleepy. Wonderfully good.

            “I’ll say it as many times as you like.”

            He smiled, eyes closing, “You may regret having said that.”

            “Never.”

            Bruce kissed her lazily then, his mouth so warm and giving, Ashika could quite literally feel the love he was pouring into it. She did her best to give it back. It was no surprise when the kiss tapered off and he went slack again. Ashika felt very close to sleep again herself and she welcomed it.

            Just before sleep claimed her, Ashika whispered a Hindu prayer, one she hadn’t uttered in quite some time. And though she felt as though she might have imagined it, she could have sworn she heard Bruce finish the prayer with her.  

 

_“May the heavens be at peace, may the sky be at peace, may the Earth be at peace, peace to the water, peace to the trees and nature, may the gods be at peace, that peace unto Brahma and may we humans realize that peace.”_

           


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lawd! I took way too long to get this finished. Forgive my tardiness and lack of inspiration. But I hope this is a good ending for everyone. It is loaded with fluff but there is a tiny bit of angst. Very brief. Thank you for the lovely feedback and for sticking with it till the end! It's been a pleasure.

                Ashika Khatri had been living with Mr. Wayne, sharing his bed, and integrating herself into his life for close to a year. In fact, they were rapidly approaching their one year anniversary. After six months of dating, Bruce had casually brought up getting married.

                _Just to make it official._

The next day, after breakfast, he’d offered her a simple silver band and a few promises she knew he’d never thought to offer anyone. The gesture had been intensely intimate and special to her. Exactly as how she would have wanted. Ashika had only been too happy to accept.

They would be getting married in the Spring, with a small gathering of friends and family on Wayne Manor property. A backyard wedding. Simple and careful, respectful to both their traditions. Her family would be pleased with the nods to their culture despite the ethnicity of the groom. They were still unhappy with her. But Ashika suspected they were more pleased that she was getting married at all. Since they’d already written that possibility off.

               They would also be getting grandchildren, albeit grown already, but _something_ was better than nothing. Or so she’d told them after a particularly nasty screaming match.

                She had taken on a new client and spent the majority of the day out of the home working. She missed Bruce, but she also loved her work. And Bruce understood. He more than understood, which was a miracle in itself.

                In the evenings, they spent their time either in thoughtful discussion, side by side reading, or pressed skin to skin. After months of perfecting their mode of operandi, Bruce had become increasingly agile in the bedroom and their lovemaking was—more than good. It was incredible. Ashika had been walking on clouds for months.

                So, it came as a bit of surprise, when one Saturday morning, a morning which she had anticipated spending most of the day in bed with Bruce, she found he was already up. Somehow he’d snuck out of bed, despite the noise of his walker and had gone off without her.

                Frowning, Ashika tugged back the thick comforter and blinked into the hazy lighting. It was so dark in the bedroom, she almost missed the noted folded in half on Bruce’s pillow. Written in his now usual shaky script, Ashika had to turn on the bedside lamp just to read it.

                And when she did, she felt herself smile.

                _Meet me downstairs. I woke up wanting pancakes and decided not to wait._

It was early enough, Ashika doubted Alfred would even be awake so there was something thrilling about padding down the stairs with bare feet and the soft swish of her robe. She avoided the creaky places and bit her lip as she passed Alfred’s wing. There was a very wanton part of Ashika that would prefer they had the kitchen to themselves. She had a fond image of smearing pancake batter on Bruce’s nose—and maybe a few other choice parts of his body before licking him clean.

                The image made her giddy when she pushed past the pocket doors and found Bruce leaning against the counter, exactly where he said he’d be. He was using the counter as a support for one hip as he flipped a pancake, only the stove light on for guidance. And he looked absolutely domestic. Divinely good-looking.

                Ashika didn’t bother announcing herself.

                She had learned over the last year, that it was nearly impossible to startle Bruce. He always heard her coming or sensed someone nearby. His reflexes, despite the injuries, were uncanny.

                “Good morning,” Ashika whispered a moment before wrapping both arms a tapered waist. Bruce was wearing black, a favorite color he always seemed to gravitate towards and Ashika liked pressing her nose into the cotton to smell the detergent.

                Bruce paused in his work, tipped his head back to peer down at her then smiled with what Ashika had deemed his, ‘crinkly smile.’ The one where the corners of his eyes crinkled and his eyes went from pewter to sterling. The one that made her breath hitch and her muscles turn to jelly.

                “Good morning. Are you hungry?”

                “I am,” Ashika nipped at his shoulder blade and he hummed in reply, focus clearly more on the making of pancakes.

                Ashika stepped back after a moment, letting him finish in favor of helping prep. She got down the syrup and butter. Set the table with flatware and plates, juice and coffee. By the time Bruce ambled over with his plate of pancakes, Ashika was sitting at the table happily sipping on coffee. She’d had the best view in the house.

                 Bruce took the seat next to her, depositing the plate of steaming breakfast between them like an offering to a God. Which, it definitely might be passable as such, because it smelled divine. Like cinnamon and vanilla with just the hint of hazelnut.

                “You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you could cook.”

                Bruce snorted, taking a long sip of his own coffee cup, eyes fluttering closed, “I know how to cook only a few choice dishes. Pancakes are one of them.”

                “Ah, well,” Ashika poured too much syrup on her pancakes, mouth-watering, “What else can you cook?”

                “Spaghetti and meatballs. Macaroni and cheese. Toast.”

                Ashika lifted a brow, “How gourmet of you?”

                Bruce chewed thoughtfully, his eyes full of mirth, “I can also make iced tea. And coffee.”

                “I’m impressed.”

                “You should be,” he grinned, licking his lips to clean them of syrup. The way his tongue darted out had Ashika’s thoughts scattering and centering on how to get her vision of pancake batter and a naked Bruce into reality.

                “I didn’t just make pancakes.”

                Ashika blinked, forcing the haze from her vision and her thoughts to recenter when they did, she realized that Bruce was fidgeting with his napkin. He’d not finished even one of his pancakes. He looked—anxious. Tired. Dark circles pressing beneath his eyes in a way that Ashika had been too tired herself to notice in the beginning. But now, she was noticing.

                And she was worried.

                “What’s wrong?”

                Bruce shrugged a shoulder, “Nothing is wrong. Not really. I just—we’re getting married in the Spring and I—I need to—well there were things I told you that you didn’t know and needed to know about me.”

                Ashika remembered the conversation. Vaguely. And it sent warning bells through her.

                “What sort of things do you need to tell me, Bruce?”

                _What sort of things are you scared to tell me?_

“I—” Bruce swallowed, pressed his hands flat on the table then blew out a breath of air, “I think it’s better if I show you.”

                Ashika said nothing when Bruce stood and waited patiently for her to reciprocate. When she did, he led the way down the hall off the kitchen, past the study, across plush carpeting and away from the majority of life in the Manor.

                Then he stopped at a pretty grandfather clock she’d admired before and Ashika frowned in confusion. Opened her mouth to say something, to ask what on Earth he was doing, then, stopped.

                Because Bruce was moving the hands on the clock to a different time, his brow furrowed, fingers shaking and Ashika could tell the shaking wasn’t from his tremors. It was from fear.

                Her blood chilled when there was an odd hissing noise that eked out from the sides of the clock a moment before it swung open like a door. Behind the clock, a yawning opening, clearly a doorway revealed itself and dim lighting blinked on in response to someone’s presence nearby. If Ashika could form any coherent words at all, she might have said, ‘Why do you have a hidden door in your house?’ But no words came, so she remained silent and with Bruce’s face so pale and waxen, she could feel her heart skipping around in her chest like an oily fish.

                Inside the hidden opening, there was a set of stairs to the right and what looked like an elevator. Bruce moved towards the elevator and as Ashika followed, the clock slowly sucked back into place and that odd hissing noise of air startled her.

                “It’s just the hermetic seal. It keeps the moisture out of the house.”

                “What?” Ashika blinked up at Bruce, at a face that looked haunting in the slightly yellowed lighting that glinted off everything.

                “It’s an underground cave. It’s been under the manor for hundred’s of years but I didn’t make use of it till my early twenties.”

                Ashika’s shoulder relaxed a bit, her pulse not such a thunderous tumult in her ears as she slid in beside Bruce in the elevator. She was doing her damnedest not to feel the creepy-crawlies that wanted to break out over skin and threaten shivers. But it was a struggle. Which was made worse when the elevator opened into a massive room. It took several seconds for the room to recognize a presence and with it, for all the lighting to flicker on in varying stages.

                And when it did, Ashika gaped.

                It was simply—massive.

                The lighting illuminated grated walkways, connecting several levels of heavily manmade workspaces. Panels of glossy monitors sat like a hub at the center of the palatial room, with a long u-shaped desk and glittering dots of red flickering lights.

                Bats, actual bats, squeaked in response to the lighting being switched on and Ashika stared for what felt like hours before realizing she was staring at a very, very familiar car parked on another grate above their heads.

                “What’s—what’s that?”

                Bruce shifted, the wheels of his walker grinding, “My car. Or one of them. There are several variations of transport in this cave.”

                “Variations of transport,” Ashika pressed her lips together, “I’m—I’m having a difficult time comprehending what all this is. I know logically, I think, but—how?”

                Bruce was moving then, angling himself for the set of grated stairs that would lead to the desk and bank of monitors. More lights flickered on at his movement, more spaces of shadows and niches where weaponry and tools were stashed came into view. And Ashika, felt—numb? Conflicted? A little overwhelmed? Perhaps all those sensations twisted into one.

                “I started when I was young. Very young. Traveled and honed my craft, became an expert at anything I could get my hands on. And when I came back to Gotham, I—” he shifted, glancing up at the stalactites clinging menacingly to the ceiling. “I became the Batman.”

                Ashika blinked, “The Batman.”

                "Yes." Bruce’s eyes were earnest. Not a trace of malice, trickery, or humor in them. He was deadly, deadly serious. And why wouldn’t he be? He’d just taken her down into the depths of a secret cave beneath the manor and she was questioning him being what he said he was about being the—the Batman?

                _Dear God._

_Bruce, her Bruce, was the Batman._

Suddenly, so many, many things made more sense. And Ashika wondered how she’d never suspected before. Bruce’s scars, there were always so many and some that she’d often frowned over thinking they resembled gunshot wounds or even bite marks. He’d always told her that he’d lead a colorful life.

                And that wasn’t a lie.

                But he’d purposefully been misleading her. Guiding her away from the truth of what he really was.

                Everything about Bruce pointed to who he was beneath the skin and the scars. Beneath the handicaps. From the books on the shelves in his library to the contacts on his phone. And Ashika had missed them all. How had she not even suspected?

                “Ashika, I’m sorry I haven’t told you till now. But please, understand, I was struggling with—”

                “You had to give it all up.”

                The realization of what Bruce had lost in the accident made her feel immense heartbreak on his behalf. And right alongside it, admiration. Because Bruce hadn't just overcome a physical disability, he'd accepted moving on from what was obviously a very personal and long career of saving others. 

                Bruce blinked at her, his mouth flattening, his eyes going abruptly pained, “I—yes. I did.”

                Ashika felt the burn at the back of her eyes, the tightening in her throat as she leveled Bruce with a look she hoped conveyed some of her feelings. Because they were too great. Too big for just a look or even words.

                “I’m so sorry.”

                Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, then had to clear his throat as he looked down to his feet. She hadn’t noticed before but they were bare and with the chilly damp of the cave, he had to be cold. She immediately wanted to go and find socks to cover him, an old habit from being his nurse. Something she forcefully resisted now that she was no longer.

                “I wish I’d told you sooner.”

                “I understand why you didn’t.”

                “I wanted to,” Bruce looked up, chewed on his lip, looking lost for a moment, “I wanted to tell you everything. To share it all. But I wanted to be sure about us. And now that I am, I just—I never thought you’d react so well.”

                “Did you think I would leave you, Bruce? That I would be upset?”

                “You wouldn’t be the first.”

                Ashika felt a stab of white-hot anger at that. She knew about some of the other people in Bruce’s life. People who had hurt him. Who had done unforgivable things in his life. But being reminded of the damage the man in front of her bore internally, made Ashika want revenge. Something that was strictly forbidden in her religion. And for good reason.

                Such feelings were poisonous.

                “Who is on the streets then?”

                Bruce inhaled softly, “Dick sometimes, Tim others. Damian too. He’s going to take over after graduation.”

                The thought of Damian soaring over the city in the Batman armor had fear clawing up Ashika’s throat. The thought of any of the boys risking their lives, getting hurt—

                “They’re all well-trained.”

                “So were you. And I’ve seen your scars.”

                Bruce nodded, “It’s part of the risk, yes. But it’s a risk they are all old enough to take and decide for themselves if they are willing to take.”

                Silence fell back between them and after long minutes of studying the cave around them, Ashika found the space between her and Bruce to be far too invasive. She closed the gap between them in a few easy strides, pressing into Bruce’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. He responded in kind by kissing the top her head, enveloping her in his warmth and the smells of syrup lingering from breakfast.

                “Are you—are we alright?”

                Ashika nodded, not sure how she was taking it all so well, but more than okay. She felt light, like Bruce was the only thing keeping her feet planted on the ground.

                “More than, Bruce.”

                Bruce sighed, “Thank God.”

                Ashika laughed.

 

 

 

                They had a sangeet a few days prior to the wedding ceremony and their families came together for dancing, singing, and celebration. It was a mishmash of cultures. The colors bright and unapologetic and the joy palpable. Differences were set aside and Bruce could see that Ashika’s family was really trying to savor these moments with their daughter.

                Bruce was more than a little grateful to the Khatri family for trying to accept him and his own. His boys floundered with the traditions but were good sports about it. Alfred seemed smitten with Indian food and vowed to make much, much more of it.

                A day before their wedding, Ashika took part in the traditional Mehendi ceremony, painting her feet and hands, even her arms in intricate henna patterns. When Bruce saw her walk barefoot onto the grass, moving to stand beneath their mandap, he found it almost impossible to breathe. She was stunning. He’d never seen her in traditional Hindu dress and the bright red and gold in her sari contrasted richly with her skin tone.

                All at once, he felt like he was twenty again, standing in the bustling streets of Agra or Surat, being awed into silence by the sheer beauty of all the colors and the sights. It was like seeing something sacred and Bruce knew he would never forget this day or that image.

                By the time they’d exchanged floral necklaces and had then vows, Bruce was feeling so lightheaded he was faint. The sun wasn’t too warm and there was only a handful of people watching, but he’d never, not once in his life ever felt so lucky to be in a place at a given time.

                Ashika didn’t hesitate in her vows. She cried a little when he said his own.

                There was a small chorus of cheers when they kissed to seal their union. Bruce's heart felt like it was in his throat, his emotions so thick and cloying it was difficult not to just break. Somehow, he managed. They celebrated again, ate a mixture of American and Indian foods, talked late into the night until the stars were pinpricks of light in a velvet sky, then everyone started to leave and Ashika and Bruce were alone once more.

                Alfred had said he’d prepared the poolhouse for their use and although Bruce had griped about wanting their own bed, he’d eventually quieted down when the boys had put pressure on him. He was glad that he’d finally shut up.

                Because Alfred had outdone himself.

                Candles and incense burned fragrantly inside and where just a simple bed resided before in open layout meant for guests, Alfred had added a canopy in jewel tones. Flower petals were on literally _every_ surface and made the small space look like some sort of fairy garden.

                Bruce was more than a little chagrined to admit he immediately got choked up by it all.

                “Alfred,” Ashika whispered, “That sly devil.”

                Bruce nodded, still not trusting his voice.

                “He must have been for weeks.”

                “Months,” Bruce murmured, remembering when Alfred had put in his request. As they moved further into the room, over to the bed, Bruce could see the edge of a gold envelope resting in a flower-shaped elephant. His heart did a jump at the sight of it.

                Ashika sat on the edge of the bed, her kohl-lined eyes shimmering up at him, “Should we open it?”

                “Alfred would want us too. It’s undoubtedly—a gift of some sort.”

                “He didn’t have to.”

                Bruce snorted, “He would want to. Believe me.”

                Ashika smiled in response, reaching for the envelope to peel back the seal. It was obvious the moment she dug out the contents that Alfred had bought tickets to something or someplace. Bruce still felt the wave of gratitude even before he knew anything about it. He also felt the sting of tears at the back so his eyes so strongly, that he gave his back to Ashika and had to lean heavily into his walker. The boys had helped him paint it for stealth mode. They’d insisted it was hardly noticeable against the backdrop of his tuxedo. He’d begged to differ.

                But had also been more than a little pleased at the final result. Flat-black was much more his style. Especially since it seemed the walker was going to be sticking around.

                Perhaps for good. And that didn’t matter. At least, not as much as it had a year ago.

                “It’s plane tickets.”

                “To where?” Bruce glanced back over his shoulder.

                “To—” Ashika’s voice went soft and incredibly fond, “To India. To my home.”

                Bruce swiveled to see Ashika better and found her swiping at her eyes, smearing her makeup with tears.

                “Shimla. For two weeks. He says,” she swiped at her face again, “He says arrangements have been made for food and lodging. And that it starts in Shimla but we will travel through New Dehli, Agra, Jansi, and other towns along the way. It is—all paid for.”

                Bruce closed his eyes, took a deep breath, “Of course it is.”

                “This is too much.”

                “No,” Bruce shook his head, smiling softly, “This is Alfred. And he’ll be ecstatic if we go and take lots of pictures to bring home. He’s going to want to see where you’re from.”

                They talked a little more about the tickets, shared a few laughs about how fun it was going to be figuring out a walker on international travel. At least Ashika would be with him to navigate it. Eventually, the excitement of their trip combined with that of that day caught up to them and suddenly their mouths were hungry and their hands wildly searching. Bruce could not touch enough, fast enough. He couldn’t taste enough skin to be satisfied and he was _starving_ for Ashika.

                Undressing was supposed to be a slow affair. Ritualistic and careful. Romantic.

                Bruce wanted to peel off the layers and just _look_ at Ashika. But that didn’t exactly happen. In between practically tearing the delicate folds of her dress and actually tearing a hole in his tuxedo’s dress shirt, they ended up giving up and giving in.

                Flower petals crushed under their weight and filled the room with the fragrant scents of Ashika’s homeland and Bruce felt like he was drowning. Her skin was silk under his hands and the soft sounds she made were driving him mad, making his blood boil. They kissed sloppily, too desperate and needy to slow it down and savor. Too eager for each other.

                By the time they finished and Bruce was blinking down at Ashika with flower petals stuck to his face and henna smeared on his chest, they were laughing. And it was better than he imagined his wedding night. Better _because_ it didn’t go as planned which made it more romantic.

                They didn’t bother getting dressed, opting to lay naked in the nest of flowers instead. They ate strawberries and drank champagne in the mess and then had sex again a lot slower and with a lot more care. Ashika kissed Bruce from head to toe. She kissed his scars and his belly button, the backs of his knees, and ankles. Bruce had never felt more worshipped in his life and he wanted Ashika to feel the same.

                So he certainly tried.

                By sunrise, Bruce and Ashika were just starting to drowse, finally too exhausted to do much else but sleep. Bruce had Ashika nested back to his front, his arms protectively cocooning her beneath the blankets. Her breath felt like little tickles along his forearm, a lulling trance that made his eyelids heavy and his heart light.

                “Good morning, Mr. Wayne.”

                Bruce smiled into Ashika’s hair, felt his chest grow impossibly tight with all the feelings he’d never thought he’d get to experience. “Good morning, Mrs. Wayne.”

                And it was a very, very good morning.


End file.
